


The Old Man

by Masqueradehfx



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, gay culture, gay history
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-07 18:24:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 54,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masqueradehfx/pseuds/Masqueradehfx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is miserable, Louis is bearded and now, engaged! Eleanor is beyond miserable. But one chance meeting may change their entire future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I make no claim to own anything. The characters are completely fictional, utter figments of my imagination, especially the real ones! But the history and the emotions are absolutely real! I often hear well-meaning allies say there is no difference between gay and straight people, but there is. It is our history, our struggles, our fights to find a level playing field that makes us very different. But different is good. I am proud of our history. And hopefully, dear reader, you will be too.

**Prologue**

They were driving far too fast, too late at night, with too much anger in the air to ever be near safe.

 

"Peter, please, what is wrong with you?" Duncan asked for what seemed like the thousandth time tonight. "An hour ago you were sitting in the music room, singing your head off, being the life of the party. Now you are just ... Sweetie," he pauses to look at the road ahead and the sharp S-turn ahead, "this is so not like you. Please, what is wrong?"

 

Peter snaps his head around to glare at his husband ... No, NOT husband, not even domestic partner, barely a boyfriend, really, these days ... To glare at AD, the man he has gifted with the last 38 years of his life. AD is sitting there, his eyes darting between Peter and the road ahead - of course, always doing two things at once, and never giving Peter the majority of his attention. Everything else comes first. 

 

"I saw," was all Peter said before looking away, tears freely flowing from his eyes.

 

"Saw what, Peter? Come on, love, you have got to give me a better hint than that."

 

"THIS IS NOT A FUCKING GAME, AD MACVALE!" Peter shouted. That alone would be enough to make AD pause - Peter has, until now, never raised his voice in anger. "You and your fucking games, AD. Your twisted fucking games. It was not enough to pervert the lives of others with the little games you lot play; but I'll kill you before I let you do it to me too." His voice was dead cold, lifeless, and AD was suddenly very unnerved. This was all so very wrong, and they were still driving way too damned fast!

 

AD ventured a hand across the console to gently touch Peter's knee. A touch of reassurance, friendship, begging to be heard. "What did you see, Sweetie? Please, I cannot help you if you do not tell me what you saw."

 

Peter gave a derisive snort. "Help me? Like you tried to help poor Richard? Christ almighty, AD, Richard is my best friend! He was your business partner! What the fuck are you thinking doing this to him, to me ... To us, all of us?"

 

"Peter, please, I have no damned idea what you are talking about!" AD was getting annoyed now.

 

"Richard showed me the picture of you and that ... Child ... You poached from him last month. I give you 38 years, and you repay me by banging some 18 year old twink with dreams bigger than his ability."

 

AD gapes at Peter for a minute, before turning his head away to stare out the window. The betrayal was thick in his mouth, threatening to choke him. This could not be happening to him. Not after he had been so careful. This could not be how it would end, with a picture.

 

"Peter, listen very carefully: that picture is a fake. You know I would never, ever do anything to hurt you.

 

"He told me all about it, AD. The expensive gifts to the kid. The money. The sex. The empty promises.  How,long have you been poaching Clients from other agencies like this?"

 

AD closed his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose. This was war. War against his lover's best friend - sad, but necessary. But why? Why would Richard do this now, when things were so good between them. AD was referring clients to Richard and his agency was thriving. It didn't make sense.

 

"God damn it, AD, you're not even listening to me!" Peter shouted as the car careened around another corner and turned for the tunnel. "Go ahead. Ignore me like you always have. Ignore just how much this is killing me."

 

AD looked at Peter once more, ignoring the speed of the vehicle for a moment. "You and your artist's temperament. This is bullshit, a lie! It is not killing you. Now calm yourself and give me a minute to think." AD ran his hands over his jacket pocket, only just remembering the ring he had bought the other day. After 38 years, the least he could do is give Peter the marriage he had always dreamed of. It's not like he needed to work, anyway. He could retire, be married, and not have to worry about his "relationship" being used against him. But Richard knew that! Damn it, it made no sense for Richard to do this, not when he was so close to leaving anyway.

 

"No ... It is killing us ..."

 

AD felt the car swerve. He heard the crunch of metal on concrete. He felt pain for a second. And then blackness. He had lost the war.

 

 


	2. Nice to meet you, Old Man

Duncan sat alone in his hotel suite, staring out the window at the moonlit night. Once he used to enjoy nights like this - a foreign country, a foreign city, a night filled with mystery and beauty. But it was just dark to him now. The city was not foreign any more; he had been here too many times. Every year he swore would be his last; every year he was back in the same country, the same city, the same hotel suite, the same time, every year.

 

He has been wandering the globe for more than a decade now, traveling alone for more than half of that. He had considered stopping many times; he almost did in Bali last winter, but soon the loneliness and desperation got the better of him. A new city, a new country, a million news sights and smells, a million ways to forget. But not tonight, and not here. Tonight belonged to guilt and regret. May 16, Zurich, Switzerland; where everything ended and began anew, albeit forever broken. 

 

He would spend the night in the hotel, visit his banker and lawyer in the morning, and then travel out of the city to the little country church. Then to the airport to fly wherever his pilot wished to take him. He had long ago stopped planning his destinations. He didn't care anymore. Anywhere his many travel visas would permit him entry. Anywhere he did not have to stop and remember. 

 

The crash and shout from the next room startled him. It has been more than an hour, and the party just seemed to be getting more wild. He really must remember to book both penthouse suites next time ... Next time ... He had not even gotten through this trip, and he was already planning to go through this hell again next year. 

 

Another bang and a rather clearly audible long riff of profanity. Duncan smiled in spite of himself. Whomever has the other suite certainly held a deep and masterful understanding of the versatility of the word fuck. But he did not come here tonight to listen to a party he was not attending.

 

He rose from the bed, intending to return to his book in the living room. But instead he passed the small desk and collected his iPad as well. Both a conscious thought and an involuntary habit, the same old patterns repeated themselves. The despair became too much, and he would seek human comfort. It would leave him feeling worse than ever in the morning - loveless sex sought to fill the void left by an absent love devours the soul. But he would seek it just the same. 

 

But for now, he would review the various financial and legal documents he had been sent. Within five words he was already bored and starting to get a headache. This crap was always Peter's thing to take care of; at least Peter could pretend to care when Victor would go over it all. Seriously, after the first billion, did it really matter? Hell, he had so much money that when the markets collapsed in 2008 and he lost nearly half of his wealth it was over a year before he even noticed; not that it made any difference, really, he was still hoarding a wealth greater than many of the nations he had visited. And since he started wandering, his money just sat, and grew ever more obscene. He wasn't even really sure at this point how many various companies he owned - he had people to worry about such trivial matters. He was tired. Tired of the game; tired of the quest for wealth and power; tired of the life he thought he wanted and what his money meant. 

 

His money. The thought made him laugh. Since the accident and his inheritance of Peter's family fortune, there was not a single shred of paper that could every actually link a single penny to his name. Not that his name meant anything. Save for Victor, those who knew him did not know the name Duncan Wilde; and those who knew Duncan Wilde knew nothing of who he really was.

 

Another shout from the roaring party next door was enough to break his concentration and allow his human weakness to take over. Peter had been dead for seven years tomorrow, and Duncan's grief was becoming unbearable. He would visit the country church and the little graveyard tomorrow. But tonight his thoughts returned to his loneliness, and the desire for human contact and comfort took over. Seven years, yet it still felt like he was cheating on his husband; not that they ever made it that far. A few taps on the iPad and there he was - logged into a gay social network, doing the thing that only compounded his guilt and grief.

 

" _Hi, you're close. Wassup?_ " Flashed the message. That was quick, Duncan mused, looking at the profile of the 19 year old. No picture, very little information, other than appearing to be less than 50 meters away. Probably a rent boy piggybacking on the hotel's wifi. But it would not be the first rent boy he talked to; and not his last. Every year, the same thing. Every year, the same terrible ending.

 

" _The hotel wifi is shit"_ Duncan replied, " _I could be anywhere. I am Duncan, by the way. I'm 59 years old, and just looking to talk. I am too old to be playing games."_

 

Was that .. Drumming he heard? What the hell are they doing in the next penthouse? Several minutes passed, and Duncan expected the rent boy had moved on towards an easier mark. Even if Duncan knew what he would eventually end up doing, he didn't have to make it easy.

 

_"I'm Edward. And talking is good. I don't even know why I am on here. This is stupid. Anyway, why are you in Zurich?"_

 

_"Nice to sort of meet you, Edward. I'm here on business."_

 

 _"Cool,"_ Edward replied, making Duncan laugh at how the young man's vocabulary betrayed his youth. _"Same with me, sort of. Friends are having fun tonight, but I'm just not feeling it."_

 

_"Very sorry to hear that, Edward. May I ask why? And Zurich does seem to be a party city tonight. There is a raging rave-up happening next door."_

 

Duncan could hear the shouting getting louder. What the hell was a "fruit fight" anyway? That was it, it was time for some wall banging of his own. He went back to his master bedroom, where the noise was the loudest, and gave the wall half a dozen hard hits. "Shut the fuck up you baboons!" He loudly shouted several times between hits.

 

There was a new message from Edward when he returned to the living room. _"Did you just hit your wall?"_

 

_"Yes, why?"_

 

Several minutes passed without a reply. Duncan would have sent another message, but a knock on the door interrupted him. Great, the brats probably complained to the front desk.

 

Duncan strode across the room and swung the door wide, ready to give the concierge his most vile look and a talking to he would not soon forget. But the tall teen standing before him, with the mop of curly hair, arms covered in tattoos, and the most striking green eyes Duncan had ever seen, brought him up short. Peter's green eyes, he thought before fighting away the wave of agony that gripped him.

 

"Hi," the young man said, extending a hand, "I'm Edward."

 

Duncan accepted the hand as he stared at the boy. _No, you're not Edward at all_ , Duncan thought as recognition replaced confusion. But he kept his thoughts to himself, and instead did what any gracious host would do. He invited the young man into his suite, and locked the door.

 

 

 

Duncan led Edward into the suite, hesitating for a heartbeat at the master bedroom door. No, this was no simple rent boy hired to suck out the misery for an hour. This game had suddenly become so much more interesting, the quick kill has become a real hunt. For the first time in years Duncan felt a slight flutter of anticipation, which confused him greatly. He had quit the game and walked away from himself and his past. So why did he suddenly feel like his old self again?

 

It was those eyes - Peter's green eyes - he could not resist them. He wanted so much more from the man with the haunting green eyes. But what that was, he was not sure, he lacked the words or understanding to express his true thoughts right now. But there was something there, that electric spark deep in his brain he used to feel back when he would ...

 

No, he thought, that was another me, another life. This is the moment he needed to focus on. Duncan led Edward into the living room, to the chairs overlooking the patio. "May I offer you something to drink?" he asked.

 

"Vodka if you got it. Water if not."

 

Duncan nodded as he moved to the liquor cabinet. "I have vodka. But I have the suspicion this is not your first drink of the evening."

 

Edward slightly narrowed his eyes as he replied, "So?"

 

"So a man who has been drinking, but not engaged in partying with his friends, is most likely drinking alone. A man who drinks alone is either an alcoholic, or trying to wash away some pain."

 

"Was there some question supposed to be there," Edward snapped.

 

Duncan turned from the bar and smirked slightly. This lad was on edge tonight. "No need to get defensive, Harry. I am simply trying to understand what it is that has you half drunk so late in the night, or early in the morning, if I am accurate, and so upset that you would try to pick up a random stranger online." Duncan got the reaction he was expected as the boy's eyes went wide and his face paled. The young always think the old to be so unaware.

 

"W...what did you," Harry stammered, "My name is Edward, mate. Don't know anyone named Harry."

 

Duncan lowered himself into his seat as he handed Harry his vodka, who promptly swallowed a good half in one quick gulp. Duncan observed the young man for a moments, allowing the uncomfortable silence to build. He did not speak until he saw Harry begin to shift in his seat, a subtle but telling movement that indicated he was about to abruptly leave very soon. "Harry Edward Styles. That is your name, isn't it? A member of a band bigger than the Beatles. And you needn't worry, Harry. Any damage you may have done to your reputation or career by going online and picking up a man near 60 has already been done. If I wanted, I could sell even this silly story to a dozen tabloids for a small fortune. After all, the mass of screaming girls at the front doors this evening shows that everyone knows where you are staying. And a simple Internet search would validate the last time your user profile was online."

 

Duncan paused to take a slow sip of his water, and let his words settle in on the now terrified young man. "But don't worry, I have no interest in destroying you," he said softly, offering Harry a reassuring smile, "but I am curious why you would take such a wild risk after all this time."

 

By this time Harry had begun to tremble, but whether it was fear or anger Duncan could not tell. "What the fuck are you doing here!" He shouted at Duncan as he rose from his seat. "This is a set-up! We were told this penthouse was not for rent and never occupied. What the hell?"

 

"I own it," Duncan replied, his brown eyes watching the irate Harry carefully. He was certainly enjoying the game so far.

 

"The penthouse?"

 

"No, Harry," Duncan answered, "the hotel. The desk staff don't even know I am here tonight. I have a private entrance. I value my privacy. As I am sure you do as well. You have nothing to fear from me, Little One." The term of affection slipped from Duncan's lips without realizing it. But he did not mind - he did like this boy; but for the old name to come up now, after all these years... But something about Harry made him want to protect him. Something - hell he know what it was. He had Peter's eyes; he would do anything for the young man, he knew it the moment he saw him.

 

Duncan allowed Harry a moment to collect himself. When he was confident the boy would not run, he spoke again, "Now Little One, why don't you answer the question I did not actually ask. Are you just a drunk, or a tortured soul."

 

A bitter little laugh escaped his lips as Harry fell back into his chair. "You know who I am, so don't bullshit me about not knowing why I'm ... What did you call it? ... Trying to wash away my pain?" 

 

Duncan rested back in his chair, taking a moment to regard the boy before him. Really, that is what he was, just a boy thrown into a man's world, with a Demi-god's responsibilities thrust upon him. For a moment, Duncan's mind flashed back to the horrific number of times he had thrown children just like Harry into such an unbearable position. "I shall take that to mean that Mr. Tomlinson is elsewhere tonight? With Ms. Calder?"

 

Harry lowered his head into his hand, and seemed to be tearing up. "Pretty smart for an old man. Why the hell do you know about us? Got a granddaughter who is a fan or something?"

 

Duncan allowed a little laugh to escape his lips. "I'm gay, Little One. That is generally not conducive to the act of reproduction; at least, not when I had the chance, anyway. But I suppose times have changed."

 

"So is Louis. But that doesn't seem to be stopping him," Harry responded through clenched teeth.

 

Duncan rose and returned to the bar to fix Harry another drink. "I have always had an interest in the music industry. I like to keep up in what is going on."

 

"They're announced their 'engagement' tonight," Harry blurted out before descending into racking sobs. "It just ... Hurts ... Too damned much!"

 

Duncan handed the vodka to Harry, who drank it all in one go. "Do you love him, Little One? Do you know what it means when I say love?"

 

"What the fuck? Do you think I would be in this state if I didn't love him, Old Man?"

 

"What I think, Little One, is that you would be in this state for anything from juvenile lust to mature and eternal love. Let me approach from the other side then. Does he love you?"

 

"He says he does," Harry responded, seemingly unsure of himself.

 

Duncan returned to his seat. "Forget what he says, words are meaningless where emotion is involved. When he looks into your eyes, do you feel that this man is in love with you?"

 

Harry turned his gaze to the window and stared off in silence for quite some time. Duncan allowed him the time to think, being rather intrigued by the course this conversation had taken.

 

"Yes," Harry finally answered, his green eyes lost in thought. "He does."

 

Duncan could not help but smile. Young love, so precious, so fragile, so unsure of itself. He could not help but think back to when he and Peter first met in high school and how wild the passion and fear had been. "Then what are you worried about?" he asked.

 

Harry just shook his head. "You wouldn't understand," he muttered, staring off into the distance. Somewhere out there Louis was with Eleanor, and Duncan could see Harry all but straining to see into the distant city to find them. "It's ... complicated. Our careers ... It wasn't like this before. We used to flirt all the time. Louis was the worst - he couldn't help himself! God we were so ... Free back then. Before the records and concerts and tours and this fucking management. God some times I wish Simon had let us be and not signed us; at least then I would still have Louis. But then I think how selfish that is for the other lads... I don't know, it's all become so ... Complicated! You just cannot understand what it is like for us". He offered as his voice trailed off.

 

Duncan reached across to place a hand on Harry's knee, causing him to jump. "Oh calm down, Little One, I was trying to offer you comfort. If I wanted sex I would have gone for much less interesting and dramatic prey. But as for not understanding, lets see if I can guess?" Duncan leaned back in his chair, steeling his fingers just under his nose. "You are under contact, which most likely has a number of morality clauses, as well as a  'no fraternization' clause or two. You two seem to have already violated the latter, so I expect your management team is holding a hard line on the morality issues, in particular  maintaining the very marketable heterosexual image. No public displays of affection, fake girlfriends, separate residences, and anything else they can do to prevent you two from being seen together and seen as anything more than part of the band. Nothing at all like the early days. How am I doing so far?" Duncan asked.

 

"Nothing you couldn't find on the Internet."

 

"We'll how about this one, Little One? The terms of your compensation are such that the majority of your earnings thus far is tied up in investments held by management, and only released in full once your contract is completed, or you are released from it. Breach the contact, and the portfolio for you all automatically reverts back to management. And then comes the litigation, which, now that your only source of income is gone, would utterly destroy you. So your only option is to comply with whatever is demanded of you, no matter how disheartening, demeaning, or morally unreasonable." Duncan leaned forward, and once again placed his hand on Harry's knee. "I told you, Little One, I had an interest in the music industry. You are not the first man to feel the burden of such barbaric language."

 

"It fucking sucks!" Harry exclaimed and he stood and moved to the open patio doors. "It's driving me nuts."

 

"Why? I thought you said you two were in love?"

 

"What? Jesus, Old Man, what the hell is wrong with you? How the hell would you feel if someone you loved was being forced to fake a proposal to someone else?"

 

Once more, Duncan paused a moment to stare into the brilliant green eyes, marveling at how the glimmer of his tears captured the light and brought even more of a sparkle to Peter's eyes ... To Harry's eyes, yes, Harry, not Peter. "I would be very upset, if it was real. But this is not real, is it, Little One? This is the make-believe of the entertainment industry. Smoke and mirrors, the illusion of reality. Do you really think he plans to marry the girl? Be reasonable, Harry! This is business, stop taking it so damned personally."

 

Harry turned around, his face the image of shock. "Don't take it personally? Are you serious?" He all but shrieked. "It should be me getting that ring, not her!"

 

"Oh Little One, jealousy? Really?" 

 

"Oh fuck off!" Harry shouted, tears reforming in his eyes. 

 

Duncan could not help but laugh. When did he last laugh? It was long enough ago that he would have to take the time to think about it later. "Harry, sit down and stop pacing. You really are getting yourself worked up over nothing. Does Louis get this worked up when you are out with your friends? At least the odds of him having sex tonight are remote, at best. As I recall, some of your friends are a little more, shall we say, receptive? Now seriously, you know full well there is nothing they can possibly do to actually force the marriage! This is just one more part of the game."

 

Harry slumped back into his seat, slouching so much he was practically laying flat. "It still fucking sucks. It shouldn't have to be like this." Duncan could not help but feel the pain and agony in Harry's voice, a dangerous reminder of his own pain and loneliness.

 

Duncan rose from his chair to take up Harry's spot at the window. But his eyes were not on the city, but further out, into the countryside and the little church and graveyard he knew was awaiting him. "I know how much it hurts to hide, Little One. I've spent most of my life doing it. Let me tell tell you a story."

 


	3. The History of Duncan Wilde

I will not bore you with the details of my early life. Until I was 15, other than being born, not much of note happened. I was born in 1954, and my home in Toronto seemed like the centre of the universe. We were not a wealthy family, but neither were we poor. We were what father called "good-enough" Catholics. We went to mass on Sunday, I made my first communion at the appointed time, I did the expected stint sacrificed to the alter, and generally didn't think about it the rest of the week. It was not until many years later did I realize just how much had seeped in, learned more through accident and osmosis than any true faith. But otherwise, until my 15th year, mediocrity was normal. My life did not take on any true purpose or meaning until I was 15, started high school at a private boarding school outside of Toronto, and met one Mr. Peter Wilde.

 

The Wilde family had made their fortunes in shipping. They owned a huge fleet of ships, vast swaths of railroads, and frankly more money than I ever thought possible. So on that first day when I met this tall, dark haired, green-eyed kid in the room across from mine, I had no idea how inexorably linked our futures would become. I learned two things about him on that first day: he cared nothing for his father's money and instead had a passion for music, art, and literature, and that I instantly loved him with every fibre of my being. I know it sounds cliche, and to retell it after so many years makes me shake my head, but within ten minutes of talking to him I absolutely knew I would do anything for that boy. In his presence I felt complete; which was an odd feeling because until that moment I had not realized just how thrown together and incomplete I had always felt. I had settled for being average, but Peter awakened a desire to be so much more, just for him.

 

Now Harry, you have to understand, this was 1968. Homosexuality was considered a mental disorder, and still a criminal act. Even in the liberal bastion of Canada, it was not generally accepted or talked about. The closet was both my prison and refuge. And on that first day, my thoughts and feelings were just so confused and conflicted. Except when I looked at Peter - things made perfect sense the moment I looked into his eyes. That first month was the hardest for me. I found myself wanting to be around him constantly, hanging off his every word, and committing every detail of his person to memory as best I could. It's funny how love changes over time, Little One. I can still describe every detail of his face the first time we kissed; but I have no recollection of what he was wearing the night he died.

 

As I said, the first month was the hardest for me. That he even continued to talk to me after the first hour is something of a miracle; I must have seemed like such a freak. But luckily, in 1968 at a "progressive" school, freaky was normal. I really wish you could have met him. Even at 15 he was oddly tall and lean. It always seemed to me as if one of the great masters moulded him from perfect clay, using the most mathematically perfect proportions possible ... And then at the last minute forgot to carry a one. When we first met his hazel brown hair was cut rather short and very proper, befitting the heir to an empire. But by the time we graduated and moved to Montreal, his hair was past his shoulders and every bit a lion's mane.  He had big green eyes, very much like yours, that threatened to swallow me whole with every blink. And his mouth; oh Little One, those lips were absolutely deadly! They were always just slightly redder than should be normal, so full and inviting, and like everything else, just slightly larger than necessary. When he smiled everyone would smile, it was infectious and such a joy to see. Looking back now it is a criminal act that I stopped seeking that smile every day. 

 

By the end of September we had become inseparable. We were just children, really, who thought ourselves young men. We would sit for hours discussing politics, literature, philosophy, and especially music. Half the time I had no idea what he was talking about, but I sat in stillness listening to the sound of his voice and memorizing the slightest movement of his face or eyes. I am sure he must have noticed - how could he not? - I was so terrible at hiding my feelings.

 

That is part of the reason why, after the one and only time I saw him in the dormitory shower, it became my habit to shower sometime between two and four in the morning. The others guys didn't bother me. Sure, I stole a covert glance, but I had no trouble keeping my mind occupied and my body under control. Not so that morning during the first week of school. I must have looked a right fool for fumbling around, muttering near incoherently, and rushing off with a wet towel and soap in my hair. 

 

We shared our first kiss just before the Thanksgiving break in October. It would be the first weekend we would be apart, and I was dreading the mere thought of it. We were walking back to our rooms after class, a few days before the holiday, when Peter asked me to come up to his room with him, as he had something he needed my opinion on right away. When I close my eyes, Little One, I can still smell the freshly washed linens, and the scent of the cologne that he wore. Most boys our age were bathing in Aqua Velva, but not Peter. His was Cartier - nothing but the best. I entered his room as I had a thousand times before, and he closed the door, as he had a thousand times before. I had no idea anything was different until I heard the slightest whimper behind me, bring me around to stare into his suddenly too-close eyes. "I'm sorry," is all that he said before throwing his arms about me and crushing his lips onto mine.

 

I was shocked! I was beyond shocked! I was in heaven and hell at the same time and loving both immensely. Peter was kissing me! But my god, PETER was kissing me. A boy was kissing me! I was going to hell for this, I was certain. I did not know much at that age, but I knew enough to know that what we were doing was a sin, though I was hardly religious; that it was morally and socially wrong and illegal; and a symptom of a severe mental illness. I could have pulled away and ran, but I was a mentally ill, anti-social, morally bankrupt sinner. So I kissed him back.

 

It was so sloppy and messy; we really had no idea what we are doing. But I remember it as one of the most perfect kisses in the world. The kisses were chaste, at first, just lips moving and teeth bumping, but there was such wonderful passion passing between us. The jolt I got when his tongue touched my lips, seeking entrance, kept me awake for nights afterward. There was something magical in the way his tongue played over and around mine. My mind came alive. All of my senses flared into wild and new dimensions of consciousness. Whether we kissed - how do you Brits put it? Snogged? - whether it lasted 5 seconds or 5 weeks, I really have no idea. All I know is that he pulled away first, and stared at me with an expression of pure shock for a moment before erupting into a wild fit of laughter.

 

Now let me take a moment to describe his laugh. I had 38 years listening to him laugh, although, admittedly, not too often in the later years. But for 38 years Peter's laugh was both the most beautiful sound in the world, and fantastically infuriating. I could never tell when he was laughing with me, or laughing at me. No one could. And it was near impossible to tell what would set him off. As they say, he had an artist's mind, and he saw the world differently than the rest of us. He found humor in the oddest places, and often seemed to be in on a joke no one else knew or fully understood.

 

So when he stood there and began to laugh, I was crushed. Absolutely ground to dust. I had just kissed my best friend, and he was mocking me! I have no idea what my face must have looked like at in that moment, but I know it shattered even more when he started saying, "You kissed me! Oh my god you actually kissed me!" Over and over again, amid peals of maddening laughter. I was certain our friendship was over. I would have to leave school, of course. Even if it was a liberal arts progressive school born out of the free thinking 1960's, there could be no welcome for a gay boy. One stupid moment of human weakness would destroy my life. And as my universe was crashing down, Peter was still laughing and chanting "You actually kissed me!" I was done. There was only one thing to do, and that was leave.

 

I had barely made a quarter turn when he grabbed me by the shoulders and gave me the most quizzical look.

 

"What's wrong?" he asked, "Where are you going?"

 

I was incensed! "Stop fucking laughing at me you prick!" I shouted at him. "I'm sorry ... I don't ..." My words failed me as I looked into his brilliant green eyes once more, my anger dying as my fear only doubled. "I didn't mean to..."

 

"I did," he said, offering a small smile. No, not a smile, a damned smirk! The bastard smirked at me! "I've been wanting to do that for weeks."

 

I had to sit down. I had kissed my best friend. Well, really, he HAD kissed me, but I kissed him back. My head was reeling. He kissed me. "You kissed me first," I managed to squeak out as my legs grew weak and I slipped down onto the edge of his bed.

 

He simply smirked some more and nodded.  "I'll do it a lot more now that I know you'll kiss me back," he giggled, the smirk gaining smugness with every passing moment. "I wasn't sure if you would. But I figured I had nothing to loose. The worst you could do is say no."

 

Things became somewhat - Shall we say, complicated? - after we returned from the holiday. Peter was always so much more free than I was. He wanted to hold hands and kiss whenever the mood struck him; whereas I was far more reserved and, so I told myself at the time, sensible. He was a rich kid, who never had to live in the real world of men. But I grew up in downtown Toronto. I saw first hand on many occasions what happened to "queers and homosexuals" in the real world, and I was determined to never let that happen to Peter. But we eventually reached a compromise: we sought out every secluded spot on campus, every secret and hidden nook and cranny, where we might steal away between class to "make out", as we called it ... Although I still much prefer your term "snog", so much more descriptive. 

 

There are only two more parts to our high school years that is worthy of the telling tonight, and the first happened during mid-term exam week in the second half of our first year: he caught me in the shower! And when I saw caught, I mean it quite literally! The sneaky bugger claims to have been up late studying, but I really think he was simply waiting until he heard me leave my room. It was around 3am when I went to take my shower, and I really was not paying attention to my surroundings. Imagine my surprise when, as I am standing under the shower, lathering my body, a second set of hand wraps around my waist and feverish kisses begin to cover my neck and back. I'm surprised my screams are not still echoing around southern Ontario even now. And no sooner had the sound escaped my lips but that bedeviled laughing started again.

 

"I found you," he said, having scurried across the tiled floor to the other wall when I jumped, every bit the demented imp that he was. I spun around, about to shout my head off at having nearly been given a heart attack at 16, when I was brought up short by the equally shocking realization that he was sitting there completely naked.

 

So obviously, my only response to him could be, "You're naked." Yes, I was a brilliant teen!

 

He laughed again before standing, and slowly slinking toward me. I know I backed up a step as he approached, pressing my back to the wall, both in fear and to keep myself from falling down. He was sex personified - raw, uninhibited natural power. He did not stop until he pressed his body against mine, a hand reaching down to gently cup me. "So are you. It's a shower, silly," he said, giving a gentle but mind blowing rub with his thumb. I did not have the chance to respond before his lips came crashing into mine.

 

But this was not one of our usual passionate but safe kisses. Peter was not satisfied to let me set the pace or hold back. He knew what he wanted, how he wanted it, and he would have it without question. His hands roamed across my body, showing me where and how I should return the favor. I won't traumatized you with all of the intimate details, but yes - my first time, our first time, was on the floor of our dormitory shower. And as the water washed over us, I knew there had to be a special place in hell for me and my sins. But if I was destined for hell already, I had might as well make sure I damned well earned a place of honor!

 

The second event of note, two events, really, that for us became almost one continuous celebration, happened near the end of our first year. On May 14, 1969 the Canadian Parliament decriminalized homosexuality. "There is no place for the state in the bedrooms of the Nation," said then Justice Minister Trudeau. This was it, we were no longer criminals! Our love, though still not accepted, was at least not against the law. We felt so free, so passionately in love; I was beside myself, hopeful that this was the beginning of the end of my fear. But then the second event happened, and it just seemed to me to be a step too far too fast. June 26, 1969 - the Stonewall Riots. You must understand, Harry, that we had come of age in the era of the civil rights movement. Now while things were better in Canada, the events of that time were still incredibly important to us all.

 

But just beneath the surface of the freedoms and civil liberties of the 1960's was the thinly veiled understanding that love and freedom did not extend to everyone. Gay bars were illegal. Gays were illegal. Anyone could harass, beat, and often kill us with impunity; and none more so than the police. The government hated us as much as god did.

 

But when the news broke of the Stonewall riots, it was amazing. What came after it was a monumental shift in the axis of our collective world! I remember siting at home listening to the radio news out of New York, absolutely stunned that those gay men had the gall and guts to dare fight back. But I was certain that this would only make things so much worse. Government would have to retaliate now; this was not the peaceful non-violent resistance of the civil rights movement that had won so much sympathy. The gays had gone into open revolt! I was dreading how hard life would be after that, how much more we would have to hide.

 

Peter, on the other hand, was ecstatic beyond comprehension - and I mean that literally. He called me from his home in Montreal when the news broke and was bloody near incoherent he was so excited. He knew, absolutely unquestioning knew, that this was the start of a something amazing. He talked, and I listened, for hours about how this meant that we were not just an aberration, a mutation in the collective, but really our own distinct society. This was the start of "gay culture", he claimed, time mark 0 in our collective and unique history.

 

For weeks after that he would call every day, and we would talk about the impact Stonewall was having on "the gay issue." He listened when I countered his overly optimistic  arguments, but then laughed them off at the end as my typical conservative paranoia. "There are better things that can be shoved up your ass than your head, you goof," he said during one such conversation.

 

I always remember that line simply because as soon as the words left his mouth, his mothered called from the distance to "Say hello to your sweetie for us." That was the night I discovered that he had come out to his parents and had told them all about us. They didn't seem to have a problem with having a gay son - apparently they were both very supportive of the liberal arts scene in Montreal, whatever that was supposed to mean, and didn't consider a gay child to be nearly the shame and scandal I was certain I would bring to my family.

 

When we graduated, we agreed that we would both move to Montreal and attend McGill University. It had the fine arts and literature programs that Peter wanted, and one of the best business school for me. As a graduation gift, Peter's father bought a small house a few minutes from campus for us. Eighteen years old and already home owners together! Of course I did not tell my parents that part; the less they knew the better off we all were.

 

Montreal in the early 1970's was the place to be in Canada if you had an interest in art or music. All of the greats - Cohen, Lightfoot, BTO - passed through the clubs on their way to the top.

 

It was during our first year in Montreal that Peter first took up song writing. We were at a small club where some young group was performing. They were very good on the covers, and the music they wrote was pleasing, but their lyrics were simply ghastly! You must realize by now that Peter generally said whatever was on his mind. So I was shocked, but not surprised, when two songs into the second set he stood up and shouted, "Dear god, just stop singing those stupid words! Do us all a favor and become an instrumental group. Or mutes. You decide." I excepted punches to be thrown when the band came down off the stage. They challenged him to do better. So he did. Right there, in the club, on the back of a drink order, he wrote the lyrics for their first number one single.

 

It's funny, Little One, how the universe will throw a weird curve ball just to introduce a new lifelong friend. That little song written on a dare brought two such people to us. After that group got signed to a record label, who planned on recording Peter's song, the label insisted that he have his royalty contract reviewed by his attorney. He thought it was the most ridiculous thing ever, that anyone would ever expect a song he had written on a dare to ever make money - that it could get a band a recording contract he could believe without question, but that he should be paid for his work was simply silly ... The bloody mind of an artist! But eventually he gave in and brought it to an "attorney" to be reviewed, or as close to an attorney as he felt was necessary. 

 

Victor Armitage was a first year law student, only a few years older than us, and had less than basic knowledge of entertainment law. He honestly thought Peter was trying to prank him when he was first shown the contract. But no matter what Victor said, Peter would not go to anyone else. Victor had "a trustworthy soul for an evil prick", and Peter was not going to trust his legal affairs to anyone else. Honestly, I am not sure what area of law Victor had planned to study, but that little song on a drink order has had him practicing entertainment law ever since. Of course we hit it off right away, Victor and I. He had a fierceness that I admired, even if his line between right and wrong was somewhat blurry at times. But he was a strong defender of Peter's rights, especially as his song writing career expanded, which made me like him all the more.

 

It was Peter's song writing that brought us to the UK in November of 1979. We had both graduated, Peter with a double major in literature and music composition, and a shiny business degree for me, and decided to do some post-grad work in London. The punk scene held a perverse fascination for him, and the nature of my work was such that I could be based anywhere. Another of Peter's many gifts to me was the start-up capital to establish myself with my own company, without having to ass-kiss my way up the ladder first.

 

The day we arrived in London was tough. We had landed late, got tied up at customs, and did not make it to our flat until the very wee hours of the morning. We were beyond tired, and thought a quick cuddle in front of the TV before bed was in order. I wish we hadn't. The late night news was reporting that Harvey Milk had just been assassinated. Peter was devastated. I was just numb with the inevitability of it all.

 

I tend toward the cynical, Little One, even more so back then. But Harvey Milk and his rise had given even me a glimmer of hope that maybe Peter was right, and things could be different for our kind. Harvey was a powerful man, fearless and honest, and a brilliant tactician. He knew how to inspire people, how to take a beaten and broken gay community and make them into a political powerhouse. Granted, he was in San Francisco, but I had watched with interest how he had countered that hate and fear of the likes of Anita Bryant, and some small part of me felt that maybe, just maybe, the gay community, if you could call us that, had a chance of surviving our sins and being accepted into normal society. But Dan Brown and his gun proved that was a fool's dream. And thus the "Twinkie Defense" was born.

 

Peter took it very hard. He locked himself away in his studio for more than a week, painting and writing. He was always so hopeful of a better tomorrow, and this act of hateful, fearful violence had shook him to his core. But when he emerged, it was with his first novel half complete and ready to be shopped around to publishers, and with a song for me. He called it " _Infinity Eternal_ ". Harry, words cannot express the power and passion of this song. He wrote it as a duet for us, our song of hope, and love, and commitment, and defiance against the world. It really is a shame that he would never allow anyone to record it - lord knows he had hundreds of offers - but no one understood it, he always claimed, on those few occasions when he actually let anyone sing it.

 

But he was like that with a lot of his songs he wrote on his own. They were his babies, and only the truly lucky ones got to play with them. But those who did always fared very well with the song. Which also put him in high demand from artists who wanted him to write for them. Which is how we came to meet a young man named Rick. He worked with several artists for a particular label, and they all wanted one of Peter's songs for their various projects. He and Peter became very close friends. For a time we actually lived next door to each other before we decided to buy our house in Chelsea. But you know what, Little One, this isn't about Rick, so let's go back to what I have done since Peter died - forget Rick even exists.

 

After Harvey's death Peter seemed ... Different. Something of his sparkle was diminished. And then, early in the 1980's, we started hearing from our friends about the "gay plague" that was ravaging North America. Soon enough, AIDS had crossed the channel and spread across the UK. We started to lose friends, both from death, and a few who were uncomfortable being near the potentially diseased. By the mid80's, it was not just us common sinners who were in the line of fire. Rock Hudson became the name on the news, and the conversation started to change. It was fine when it was just the nameless, faceless, powerless queers dying alone and untreated, but when it was one of the Hollywood elite, people took notice. Peter became an activist. I became more fearful - this was surly god's punishment for our wicked ways.

 

I threw myself into my work even more. Traveling often as the need demanded, with Peter at my side. We lived on every continent save Antarctica at some point or the other. I had actually grown to enjoy our "down-time" travel to remote and exotic locations. As much as I loved working, I loved just being a friend and lover to Peter even more. I never felt comfortable being as free and open as Peter, especially when we were in a city or I was working. But when I wasn't afraid of what people would think, or the danger we might be in, when it was just Peter and I, oh Little One, how wonderful it was!

 

I still cry to think that he died not knowing how much I truly loved him! It was July 20, 2005 when same-sex marriage became legal in Canada. Peter did not say a word to me about it. At the time I thought nothing of it. It was not until after he was gone that I realized he must not have seen a point anymore. If he only knew ... You see, Harry, I had planned to propose to him the night he died; I had even had rings custom made for us. I had one last business function here in Zurich to attend, and then I was done. I was going to sell off my companies to Rick and a few others and get out of the game once and for all. And step one was to throw myself at the feet of that amazing man, infuriating laugh and all, and beg him to marry me. As I got older, I started to notice just how many important thing we had missed. I was able to more clearly see how others had broken me many years before, and made me terrified of my own innate existence. My fear had held us both back, and robbed us both of too many happy moments, moments we should not have missed. This - marriage to my very reason for being - was not something I wanted to miss. Unfortunately, in a tunnel just outside of the city, seven years ago today, I lost my chance and one true love. 

 


	4. Reconnecting

Harry and Duncan sat in silence for quite some time, simply staring at each other. They had just shared something very personal, and in a way, very intimate. Harry needed time to understand, and Duncan needed time to recover.

 

"Why?" Harry croaked, realizing for the first time just how dry his throat had become.

 

Duncan tilted his head for a moment, regarding the youth. "Why did I tell you my story? Why was I so afraid? Or why didn't I love Peter without fear, the way he deserved?" Duncan rose to refresh their drinks. "The answer is pretty much the same for all three, really, Harry. The bastards made me think our love was wrong, that our very existence was wrong. They broke me early, and it took me near 40 years to recover. But not before I broke Peter, and too damned many others as well. Fear is a disease, Little One. Highly contagious, hard to fight, and so terribly insidious it is near fatal before you even realize it is there. Not even good men like Peter were immune. Nor are you, Harry, nor is Louis, I suspect."

 

Duncan returned to his seat, falling quiet for a moment before continuing. "You would not be here tonight if you had not already become afraid. No matter how illogical it might actually be, I think some small part of you believes that the lies the bastards are forcing you and Louis to tell the world might actually become true. The fear has sown doubt, and the doubt and fear will only grow, making you both act in ways contrary to what you really want. You may have already stopped trusting him. He may no longer trust you. Sure, you will try to pretend that everything is alright. And when you are together, it may very well be. But you will not always be together, and when you are alone your fear and doubt will whisper terrible lies that will poison your soul."

 

Harry lowered his head, his breath suddenly catching. "So that's it then? Louis and I have no future?"

 

"Jesus Harry, don't be stupid!" Duncan all but shouted. "That is the lies and fear those bastards in your management have been telling you! That is exactly what they want you to believe. But you can fight, and you can win. Tell me, Little One, is Louis worth fighting for."

 

Harry's answer was powerful and immediate, "Yes, absolutely! He is the only thing worth fighting for. He has done so much to protect me. Everything else could be stripped away from me tomorrow, but as long as we have each other..." His voice trailed off as a fresh wave of tears overtook him. There was a definite weariness in these cries, however. They had been shed far too many times, and their toll was beginning to show - Harry was beginning to break.

 

"Then you still have hope. And you can beat these bastards, I know you can. But you must be smart about it, Harry. The deck is stacked against you, and the bastards have made the rules very unfair. But the game is not unwinnable. You can still play by their rules and get through this."

 

"How? Please, I really don't see how!" Harry begged.

 

"Little one, you just said that Louis has done much to protect you. I am assuming you mean the little arrangement with Miss Calder. Have you made it easy for him?"

 

Harry frowned deeply as he shook his head. "No," he all but whispered, "I guess not."

 

"Then that is a good place to start. Make it easier for him to do those things that benefit you both. Do what feels right, and makes you both happy. Now tell me, what is your schedule for tomorrow?"

 

"We're flying to Germany in the morning. Louis is due back before 7am, so we are probably flying out around 9am or so. Why?"

 

Duncan stood and moved to his desk, writing something on a slip of paper. "Only one other person on the planet has this number, Harry. It is my personal cell number. Feel free to call or text me any time you wish. There are very few places on the globe where I do not get some sort of satellite reception. Now Harry, I want you to go home, get a few hours sleep, and think about what I have said. Everything will feel much better after you have had some breakfast. I promise."

 

Harry slowly climbed to his feet, stretching out the kinks in his back. "Breakfast? You've obviously never been on a world tour. I'll be lucky to get time for a good tea." Harry stopped just before the door to turn and embrace Duncan deeply. "Thank you, Old Man."

 

"It was my pleasure, Little One. I do hope to hear from you soon."

 

Duncan closed the door after Harry, and then let out a heavy sigh. One Direction was one of Richard's biggest clients. Was he really so lucky to have something this monumental fall into his lap after all these years? He had stayed his hand for seven years, held back from striking, but never once forgetting the first volley in this damned war that had cost him so much. He had remained dead and off the radar for seven years. But now, with Harry's unexpected visit, could this be his invitation back? A chance for what? Revenge? Justice? Peace?

 

But Duncan's thoughts were interrupted by the buzzing of his iPhone. A text from Harry:

_I'm always afraid, Old Man, every damned day now. But it's nice to know I'm - WE'RE not alone. I'm glad someone like you is on our side. By the way, you never did say what line of work you were in. I'm curious now._

 

Duncan smiled as he wrote a simply reply:

_I was a bastard, Harry. The best bastard the world had ever known. I was their king._

 

The hour was late, and Duncan suddenly found himself with a lot to do. The first call was to Victor. Duncan held the phone away from his ear to avoid the loud whistle as the line picked up.

 

"Victor," he began with a laugh, "Explain to me again why, with all of my money, we don't have a less annoying encryption device for our phones."

 

"AD, it's ... What frigging time is it? I was sleeping, you know! It's a damned long flight from New York. And we've been over this: do you want to explain to various governments why a dead man and a semi-retired lawyer need military-grade communication equipment? Now what the hell do you want? I land in an hour."

 

"I'll explain the details when we meet, but for now, I am sending you an encrypted file, using the Pandora Cypher." Duncan could not help but smirk a little at the quick gasp from the other end of the line. _Yes, old friend_ , he thought, _this is exactly what you think it  is._ "In the meantime, there is a private flight due to leave Zurich for Germany at 9am. I want boarding of the flight delayed by at least two hours, and done with enough advance notice to keep the passengers away from the airport. Can you do that?"

 

Duncan had to laugh at the loud groan from the phone. "AD, what are you ... No, you know what, it's too damned early and I'm too damned old to care. We have a friend working in the tower. I'll see what I can do. Can I go to sleep now?"

 

"Yes, old friend. I'll see you in a few hours."

 

The second call he was able to make from the hotel's room phone. It rang once before being answered by a very tired sounding clerk. "Look at the room ID number," Duncan said curtly. There was a moment of silence before the clerk suddenly sounded very much awake, if not a little unnerved.  "Listen carefully. You will have my private dining room prepared for breakfast..." Duncan ignored the placating pleasantries as he began to provide instructions.

 

A few hours later, Duncan stared at his reflection in the mirror. The man staring back at him no longer resembled the AD MacVale that he once was. Peter would be proud of his hair, at least. What was once a short and serious side-part was now a wild and shocking mane of near pure white reaching past his shoulders. He had tried a pony tail once, for about three minutes, but it simply looked ridiculous on him. So now his hair grew wild and free. And the beard! My god, when did he last trim the monster? Mozambique last year? No, two years ago? It was getting so long and curly birds could nest comfortably. 

 

Duncan stared at himself in the mirror, regarding the tailored black suit that hung a bit too loosely from his 6'3" frame. He had lost weight again. He was probably less than 180 pounds now, far less than his usual 250 pounds of muscle. But the body could easily be restored, if he wished it. It was the soul ... Duncan avoided his own gaze for a long time, but eventually forced himself to look into his own eyes reflected back to him. They were still big and brown, but lacked the expected signs of life. His soul had been torn apart, the wreckage evident in his eyes. But in his eyes Duncan found a reason to smile. For the first time in 59 years, he did not feel afraid. He knew what he was about to do might destroy him. He knew that no matter what the outcome, the world would remember him - both as AD and Duncan - far differently than he had ever expected or planned. He may well loose everything with this plan. But by god, he really didn't care! He was not afraid! He was excited! The old king would lead his army into battle one last time and fight the good fight for a just and righteous cause.

 

Duncan turned away from the mirror, and left his suite. But not through the private entrance. This time he used the public elevator. He strode through the lobby like he owned the place, and even smiled at the junior concierge as he passed the beige envelope to him. And in a move that shocked even Duncan, he said "Good morning, gorgeous," to the young man he passed in the lobby as he strode out to his awaiting car. For the first time in seven years, Alexander Duncan MacVale-Wilde was in a damned good mood!

 

 

It was about twenty to seven when Louis finally returned to the hotel. This had been one of the longest nights of his life, and he was terribly dreading the day that would come. Harry had stopped replying to his texts around 10pm last night. Louis knew he was hurt and angry - so was Louis. But unlike Harry, Louis was stuck as the face of this terrible lie. While Louis was forced to pretend of be in love with his now "fiancé", Harry got to slip ever closer to the closet door and possibly escape - leaving Louis behind. Management was winning, Louis was losing Harry a little bit more each day, and the pain he saw in Harry last night after he told him about the "engagement" was unbearable.

 

But for now Louis had to deal with the desire to run upstairs and hide his head in the warm embrace of the man he loved, and the desire to run away and not have to face another day having mortally wounded the very same man. And the creepy old man who just said "Good morning, gorgeous" did not help his day at all! The sooner he got on the plane and got the hell out of Switzerland the better.

 

He was almost to the elevator when the senior concierge called his name and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Mr. Tomlinson, my apologies. Mr. Styles has asked that you meet him in our private dining room. If you would please follow me, sir," the man said as he motioned towards a door at the end of the hall marked "Private".  _Just bloody great_ , Louis thought, _Harry was planning a scene._  

 

 

As the senior concierge spoke to Louis, the junior man made a call to the still-occupied penthouse suite. "Mr. Styles, this is the front desk. My apologies for waking you, sir. But Mr. Tomlinson has asked for you to join him in our private dining room. If you would, sir,  please come to front desk right away."

 

 

It took about ten minutes for Harry and Louis to be brought together outside of a large set of wooden doors. 

 

Harry lifted a brow at Louis as he approached. "So what's this in aid of, eh, Love?"

 

"I have no idea," Louis replied, "I was told you wanted me here. Look, Harry, about la..."

 

Louis was cut off by the concierge who threw open the double door to reveal a large but rather dark room. As they entered they that saw that it was empty save for a large fainting bed big enough for two. On either side of the bed ran low tables filled with bowls and trays of various fruits, breakfast items, sauces, and spreads. Behind the bed, and in a few other locations throughout the room, tall white cathedral candles burned in small swarms, offering the only illumination. Soft music played through the sound system. This was one hell of a romantic arrangement!

 

"Gentlemen, I shall leave you to your breakfast. Your flight has been delayed by at least two hours. As per my instructions, no one shall be allowed to enter this room for any reason for the next two hours, exactly. There is a shower through the door at the back of the room if you require it." With that the doors closed, and Harry and Louis were left alone.    

 

"What the ... Harry ... Did you ... My god ..." Louis stammered as he climbed onto the bed. Harry followed close behind, finding a beige envelope leaving against a bottle of very nice wine. 

 

"No," Harry absently responded as he surveyed the spread. Breakfast food, yes, but all of it prepared in bite sized proportions. And no utensils. All finger food. "I guess we will have to lick our fingers clean," he said as he offered a piece of pineapple to Louis.

 

Louis smiled as he opened his mouth for the offered treat, closing his lips over Harry's fingers to lick them clean. "Excellent idea," he purred, enjoying the catch in Harry's breathing.

 

Harry leaned back, opening the envelope as Louis explored the treats on his side of bed.

 

_My dearest Little One,_

_I cannot yet give you your freedom,_

_but I can give you breakfast._

 

_Make the most of every second,_

_they disappear before you realize it._

 

_Duncan_

 

A gasp from Louis distracted Harry from the note. Louis held the cover of a silver serving tray, under which one might normally find a nice cake or pie. Instead, the tray over filled with a near obscene assortment of condoms, lubricants, and toys. It was enough to make them both blush.

 

"Uhm... I suppose I should shower," said Louis, as if he was not sure what else to say. 

 

Harry smiled broadly as the full meaning of the Old Man's gift became clear. He reached behind, dipping a long finger into a bowl of chocolate sauce. He reached across to Louis, leaving a long line of chocolate from behind his ear to his collar bone; a line he promptly proceeded to lick up, slowly and deliciously. "Let's get really dirty first," Harry growled as he reached Louis' ear, before throwing himself on top of the love of his life and reaching for another serving of sauce. 

 

 

Victor had the car let him off at the gates to the cemetery and dismissed the driver. He will drive to the airport with Duncan after they had finished at the bank. So much paperwork making sure the living remain dead. 

 

Victor took his time walking along the meandering path to the grave. Every year he feels like he is intruding, always arriving too early; but never in time to stop the wreck from killing his friend again. And having read the file he was sent, he thinks this may have been the year Duncan has broken beyond repair. It is ambitious, a plan worthy of AD MacVale, with just the right amount of prolonged cruelty to make Richard properly suffer. But still, to drag five innocent children into it, that was a new low even for a man like Duncan. 

 

Victor stopped a respectable distance away from Duncan, watching quietly as his friend sat on the stone bench before the grave, talking quietly to his lost love. Duncan was slouched over, his back visibly shaking. _Every year, too late to stop the tears_ , thought Victor.

 

Duncan threw his head back, a barking laugh escaping his lips as he all but howled in laughter to the sky. The sound so startled Victor that he had to grab a grave to keep from stumbling over. Duncan is laughing, this can't be good.

 

"Victor! My friend!" Duncan bellowed, "Stop looking at me like that and get over here. I was just telling Peter about my night, and my little plan." Duncan turned back to the grave, smiling broadly, "Seriously, my love, you would like him. Just the right mix of naughty and nice. But please, don't look unkindly upon me for what I am about to do. I know vengeance may earn me extra time in hell, but Richard's crime cannot be left unanswered."

 

Victor lowered himself to the bench, placing a gentle hand upon Duncan's knee. "You are officially insane, you do know that? Right? AD, I am worr..."

 

Duncan slapped a hand over Victor's mouth to cut him off. "Do not speak to me of worry, Victor Armitage. There is nothing more to worry about. As for my sanity ... Ok, I'll give you that."

 

"AD, what the hell is this? All of this? Not that I want you sobbing as usual, but this ... It's not ..."

 

"Victor, shut up. I am happy. I am alive. For the first time in seven years, I am alive again! Have you read the file? Can it be done in the time allotted?" Duncan's words came fast and strong, as they had before the accident when this sort of thing was his daily life. "And before you say anything, I'm putting everything I have behind this - EVERYTHING! I either win or loose, but either way I am done with this once and for all."

 

Victor pinched the bridge of his nose. _Fuck me, he's actually serious!_ The thought was like a train-wreck inside of his mind. All of his plans for a nice and peaceful retirement withered before him. "You do recall what happen to this world the last time a scheme was hatched under the name of Pandora?" he asked, no small dose of warning in his voice.

 

"As I recall, Victor, all of the evil in the world was allowed to slither away, until only hope remained. A very nice story, depending on you perspective." Duncan looked at Victor, his brown eyes saying more than his words ever could.

 

Damn, damn, and thrice damn twice over, Victor knew that his King was returning to war, and his obedient Lords would naturally follow. "It will be messy, but it can be done. I'll need to bring Xavier in.”

 

“I knew you would, Old Friend. Make sure he understands this is both an infiltration and an extraction, and both must be deadly silent. He is to keep his hounds leashed until I personally give him permission to release them. For now, I need people in Richard’s organization, as close to the key points as possible. I also want control of the security for the boys, Victor, and they must never know. So either you or Xavier are going to need to be exceptionally generous or creative. And Miss Calder, I want one of our people with her at all times. Personal security, perhaps? Since I am sure the engagement announcement is not going to make everyone as thrilled as Richard seems to think.” 

 

Victor watched Duncan carefully as he spoke. He knew all this - it was spelled out in very specific detail in the brief Duncan had sent earlier. But it was the tone of Duncan’s voice that spoke louder than the actual words. It was shocking just how dead and lost Duncan had sounded only last week, compared to the powerfully animation of his voice now. Victor was happy Duncan had decided to return to the land of the living; but he was also terrified for what that might mean for the innocent souls who might get in his way.

 

“Xavier knows how to do his job, Duncan. We’ve never had a problem before. We’ll start getting everything in place.”

 

“Good, Good,” Duncan said as he rose, “And there is one last thing. Be a friend, while I am saying my good-bye’s to Peter, and inform my pilot to forget whatever plan he had. I am returning to _The Sanctuary_.”

 

Victor’s head snapped around. “The... AD, you haven’t gone there since ... Are you sure? Are you sure you’ll be able to handle it?”

 

Duncan turned back to Victor, and made a somewhat playful shooing wave. “There are plans I need to make. There are items I need in the archive. And frankly, I can think of no better place to spend this summer than playing the hermit in the one place that meant the most to both of us.” Duncan turned back to kneel by Peter’s grave. “Now go away and let me have some time with my one true love.” 

 


	5. Let's Play a Game

The mid-May sun was just beginning to rise in Cambridge, Massachusetts, when the secure line in Noah’s study rang. The sound always had the same effect on him - it pissed him off! It always meant someone had made a mess, and didn’t or wouldn’t get themselves dirty cleaning it up. He generally hated most people who contracted his services, mostly because of how easily their messes could have been avoided. Far too many people with money and power being far too reckless. And when the shit hit the fan, it was Noah who had to clean it up. But the sound also meant work and money, a lot of money. His special services did not come cheap; so if some rich idiot wanted to fuck up their lives and give him some dirt he might be able to use later, so be it. He was glad for the opportunity to have someone else in his back pocket.

 

He lifted the phone and cringed at the near full second of whistling noise on the other end. “Only one man I know still uses such a shitty encryption on their mobile. What do you want, Victor?”

 

“Mr. Xavier, a pleasure, as always,” Victor replied. “Why doesn’t you line make a noise? Is it secure?”

 

Xavier just laughed lightly. “I don’t have to worry about explaining myself to governments or military. I take it the Old Man needs something?”

 

“He’s going to war, Noah.”

 

“About fucking time!” Xavier replied, his tone even, not at all betraying the excitement that has just bubbled forth. He has been waiting for this call for seven years! He had worked for AD for more than 30 years, and Peter was godfather to his son, Grant. But once Xavier had made the arrangements for “AD” to be declared deceased, he heard nothing. Nothing from AD, or whatever identity he and Victor had set up for him, nothing from Victor. For seven years they forgot about him, and forgot about Peter, he thought. “What does he need?”

 

“I am sending you the data now. For now it is just intel and infiltration. He was pretty clear that he wanted someone you could trust working the Miss Calder issue - he needs to know who’s side she is on relatively fast, and whether or not she can be turned. Noah, for her sake, make sure it is someone you can control - I ... I don’t want her to be collateral damage in this. I’m not sure he’s willing to spare the innocent this time. And Noah, there is something else, but he won’t tell me. He wants you to meet him at _The Sanctuary_ ,” Victor replied.

 

Xavier nodded as he moved about the study, grabbing a few things he would need right away. “You’re a bottom-feeding blood-sucking son-of-a-bitch of a lawyer, of course he’s not telling you everything. If shit goes south, he needs at least one person in the courtroom who won’t think he’s as guilty as hell. I’ll put Grant on the girl, I’m sure he won’t mind. I’ll check in with you and the Old Man at standard intervals. You have the account information. You know how I like to get paid.” 

 

 

Four nights later, Paul made his way back to his hotel room. The floor was secure, the boys were ... No, he was not going to think about what they might be doing. This was his night off. He wanted to just crawl into bed and sleep. He entered his room at the end of the hall near the fire escape - those little buggers have used the back stairs more than once to slip out - and hit the switch for the room light; but nothing happened. Paul groaned, this was just his luck. He carefully picked his was across the room, heading toward the lamp, which would naturally be placed at the far side of the bed.

 

"Mr. Higgins, do not be alarmed," a voice spoke from the darkness behind him. Faint, but definitely an Irish accent. "If I had meant you any harm, it would have happened already. Do not turn around - it is easier for us both if you do not see me at this point. Now Mr. Higgins, I have several questions to ask you. Depending upon your answers, I may have a business proposal for you that will be of befit to you and the boys you protect, or you will never see or hear from me ever again. Do you understand me?"

 

Paul was scared - he would have to be an idiot not to be scared. But he had been in security long enough to keep his calm and assess the situation. There was something about the voice that was oddly comforting. He had no doubt that if the man wished him harm, he could do it; but Paul felt safe, for now, and more than a little curious.

 

"Ask your questions," Paul replied flatly, not able to see the pleased smirk on Xavier's face. 

 

 

Eleanor always enjoyed spring. Even in the north country, spring was preferable to winter. And today was nice - bright, sunny, almost warm. It might not be perfect weather for the end of May, but it was good enough. Plus it wasn't Switzerland, Germany, or Italy! Just the thought of that long and uncomfortable week traveling with the band made her cringe. Louis had been a mix of morose and near manic the entire time. A full week spent waiting for Harry to explode at any moment.

 

She had planned to return to England when the boys left Switzerland, but the plans were changed at the last minute. Apparently someone got wind of the press questioning why "the fiancé" was leaving the day after the engagement. So a miserable night became a miserable week. Everyone except Harry was on edge - in fact, he was so calm and ... Nice, really; he was unusually nice, it just put everyone on edge. She could still see the look of dread on the faces of the others as their cars pulled up to the plane, and he saw her standing there. Louis had looked at Harry to start the usual round of apologies, but Harry just slapped his ass and said he expected her to be there. It really would look weird if she wasn't, really, and none of them needed that. He had even hugged her and thanked her for coming! Even Paul - who has seen everything - seemed unnerved by that. 

 

And it was like that for the full week. Harry recommending that her room be booked in the same hotel as theirs, since it was easier for everyone. Harry sending her and Louis off for a romantic dinner while he ate with the boys. Harry insisting that she and Louis visit "Juliette's Wall" in Verona because it would be such the newly-engaged thing to do and the press would eat it up. Frankly, Eleanor found Harry to be incredibly creepy the entire week, and Louis seemed more hurt by his sudden change in attitude than anything else. This was more time than Louis and Eleanor had ever spent together, and neither of then enjoyed it all that much. 

 

It's not that they disliked each other, but nor were they close. Neither of them could find a way around the business arrangement that chained them together. This was not what Eleanor had agreed to, and now she was in too deep, too legally entangled to do anything other than be dragged along; or dragged down, it felt. So to have the one person they could both reasonably rely upon to keep them apart suddenly thrust them together was a bit of a shock, if not a downright infuriating betrayal. Now when Harry and Louis were together at night, they were both happy as clams (she would NOT be in the room next to them on the next trip, however. God they are loud!) But as soon as Harry went off on his own and left Louis and her to do their "happy fiancé thingamy", Louis would just become so terribly glum and suspicious.

 

The only highlight of the week was the new "security specialist" Paul had brought in a few days after the "Zurich Affair", as she and Louis began calling it. How anyone could seriously think this engagement was a good idea was beyond her! Almost immediately the security threats went to a whole new level. It took only four days for Paul to decide it was too dangerous for Louis, Harry, and herself, and brought in sweet "Noah, just Noah,   Ma'am." Apparently people in his line of work didn't need last names. He was a wonderful Irish gentleman, from Belfast originally. He had the most gentle grey eyes, she thought, and his shaved head gave him a very Patrick Stewart sort of appeal. She had taken to him immediately. He and Paul took turns with escort duty for Harry and Louis, and by default, herself while she was with them. It was amazing how much of a hornets nest was stirred up by the latest farce - it seemed like everyone wanted at least one of them dead now. Eleanor was never so glad to get back to Manchester and away from the insanity that had become her life.

 

She had been home for three days now, and was happy to return to her daily routine. Paul had told her that she would be receiving her own security, which she was secretly grateful for. This was definitely not what she had signed up for. But she put those thoughts out of her mind as she crossed the street to Starbucks. A couple of hours with some girls from campus is just what she needed. But as she entered the doors of the shop, she came up short. He was there, again!

 

Thinking back, she is almost certain he boarded her flight during a stop-over at Heathrow. But she just couldn't be sure. Ever since they were mobbed in Munich, she has been slightly paranoid. But the young man sitting at the table at the window looked so familiar! He was tall, well over six feet, and very fit. But it was the hair - a brilliant mop of bright red hair. The same hair that she saw outside of her apartment the night she returned. The same hair she saw several times around campus the next day. The same hair at the movie theatre last night. And now here he is; it has to be the same man! The smart thing would be to ignore him. The wise thing would be to call the police and report a stalker. But seeing him sitting by the window, sipping a coffee like he had every right to do this to her, well, it simply made her furious!

 

In that moment she was neither smart nor wise; instead she stormed over to his table and slammed herself into the seat across from him. "Who the fuck are you, you bastard? And why the hell are you stalking me?" she hissed, all of the stress and anger of the past few days taking over.

 

The man simply looked at her, seeming neither surprised nor startled by her outburst. Instead he smiled warmly at her and offered a hand. "I am Grant Xavier. A pleasure to meet you, Eleanor," he replied warmly.

 

She simply gave him a withering glare. So he continued.

 

"I believe Noah told you to expect me. I probably should have made introductions on the flight to Manchester, but it has been my experience that people do not follow their normal routine once they know security is present. So I decided to follow you first, to learn your routine and see where the danger zones might be. And that is really something we need to discuss later. It took you nearly two full days to even realize that someone might be following you - and I was being pretty obvious about it - and another half day before you decided to do something about it. And when you did decide on a course of action, it was to confront the potential threat on your own. I can see you will not make my job easy on me."

 

She was dumbfounded at first, and then incredibly embarrassed, before fear finally set in. My god, he was right! If this was a real stalker, she could be dead by now! Christ, she had really screwed up this time.  She had to say something. "You're..." She stammered, "you're American?" she asked. Lord, was that really the best she could think to say?

 

Grant laughed softly, as if he was reading her mind. "Yeah, Boston area. And I am sorry for scaring you. But given the situation, I felt it was important to learn as much as I could about you before letting you know I was here. I think it best if we not telegraph the fact that you have a body guard. I wanted to know your routine so that we can stick to it as much as possible." Grant took another sip of his coffee before leaning in to place a hand over hers. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but if a nutter is hell bent on doing something, an army of body guards will not stop them; it will only make their plans more careful and the action more violent and well placed. I would rather not give the crazies reason to think anything has changed. My job is made a lot easier if I only have to worry about the fool acting on impulse, than a fool with a damned good plan. Does that make sense you you, Eleanor?"

 

She simply nodded as the weight of his words hit her. 

 

"And Eleanor," he finished, "For the love of god do try to act normal around me."

 

She jerked a little at that. She had not realized she was acting differently. "What do you mean?"

 

Grant leaned back a little, steeling his hand before him. He seemed to be considering something carefully, before he laughed softly and leaned back in and gave her a little wink. "There is no one close enough to hear what we are saying," he said softly, his voice just slightly seductive. "To the casual observer, we might appear as a couple who was having an argument, and is now making up. Or at least we would if you stopped acting so nervous and gaping at me like a startled Guppy. Now, Eleanor, how did we meet?"

 

"What?" she gulped.

 

"How did we meet? When your friends, who are sitting just over there, by the way," he said, pointing at the three girls on a sofa across the room, "When they ask how we met, what will you tell them? It is better if you decide these details, since you are the one who will need to be convincing."

 

Eleanor smiled for the first time. She was beginning to understand this game. This was something she could do! And she knew exactly how she would do it. "We just met," she said, using the truth to mask the lie, "on the flight from London to Manchester. We struck up a conversation about ... Politics! Yes, that will do. After that, we bumped into each other a few more times, and struck up a friendship. How does that sound?"

 

Grant laughed and flashed a broad smile. "That sounds very honest and easy to remember."

 

Eleanor echoed his laugh. "It's nice to tell the truth for once," she replied ruefully, "But I should be getting to my friends. I take it you will be ... Around?"

 

"Always."

 

And so it went for the rest of the summer. Wherever Eleanor went, she would see a flash of red hair somewhere near her. It came so that she looked forward to it. A little game they played, seeing how long it took before she could find Grant following her somewhere in the crowd. As the weeks passed, she got very good at it.

 

But it was not all long distance glances across the sea of people. It was lunches together, friends having a chat on park benches, "bumping" into each other at parties. She introduced Grant to a few of her friends as the funny American she met on a plane. By the time the band finished the American leg of their tour in mid-August, Grant had become a permanent fixture in Eleanor's life. A fixture she was not she would be willing to give up when the time came.

 

It started when they flew to Miami in June. It was felt that Louis' fiancé should visit him more, so there she was, whether she wanted it or not. Granted, she did enjoy the trip, and it was much easier now that Harry was, well, whatever the hell he was now. That was still weird! In fact, the day after the Miami show, it was Harry's idea to stop at DisneyWorld on the way to Kentucky. The press loved it! They even got pics of her and Harry, of all people, being happy together. And Louis spent the whole day looking as if he was about to burst; although whether it was happiness or pent up stress over his fears of losing Harry, she was not sure. But Eleanor was noticing it too - Harry was not as jealous, to the point where it seemed like he was no longer caring.

 

And through it all there was that flash of red hair. No one ever suspected that Grant was traveling with her; she didn't even think the boys knew who he was. But wherever she was, that flash of red was always somewhere in her line of sight - and she was always in his, which made her feel safe and warm. However, the warmth became uncomfortably hot when he somehow managed to slip casually into the seat next to her on the Haunted Mansion ride. There was no intent or coherent thought that made her lean into him, to feel the heat radiate from him. But it felt so right and natural, like this was where she belonged. They didn't speak during the ride - well, she shrieked her head off and he just laughed like a fool - but again, it just felt right. Looking back years later, she would always remember that day at Disney as one of the most special moments in the more than two years she had been traveling with the group.

 

The boys would return home around mid-August from the US tour, have a few days off, and then start the lead-up promotion of their movie. So with the summer off, Eleanor was required to spend the time in London at Louis' house. After all, his fiancé should probably be living in "their" house. She and Louis spoke infrequently, and every conversation at some point returned to a single theme: Harry spent hours every day texting someone. Whenever Louis asked, all Harry would say is that it was a friend, and not to worry about it. Louis was certain Harry had someone else. 

 

Why wouldn't he, she thought. It would be at least two more years before they could even consider coming out together, and even then there was a chance that it would be a career ending move. So why wouldn't Harry just move on? She would tell Louis to grab  Harry and talk to him! But they didn't talk. Louis was happy when Harry was around, and he would not say or do anything to drive Harry away. He was terrified into silence.

 

But not all was bad about that summer. In fact, Eleanor found it wonderfully enjoyable. At least once per week, at her insistence, Grant joined her for a movie night. It is what friends do, after all. And if she was forced to spend the summer in London, she was going to enjoy herself. They often just ran into each other when she would go out for supper, with ever increasing frequency. By the middle of July, they had at least one meal per day together. The one advantage to her situation was that while Louis was abroad, the press generally left her alone. Which meant she could spend as much time with Grant as she wanted. 

 

So it was a week before the boys were due home, two weeks before the insanity of the movie premier would consume her life, that she found herself at some small Italian bistro in Kensington, sitting across from a rather extra-dashing Grant. One last night of freedom, as it were.

 

"You're very quiet tonight, El. A penny for your thoughts?" Grant asked as he refilled her wine glass.

 

It took a few seconds for her wandering thoughts to let go of the stress and probable misery that was to come and return to the relaxation that was the here and now. "I'm sorry, Grant. Just dreading the rest of the month. It's bad enough I've been stuck in London all summer, except for the few occasions the bastards decide I should be trotted out for an airing. But soon the boys will be home, and things will only get worse. Did you know that Louis thinks Harry is cheating on him? Not that it would surprise me, mind you, but it is making Louis beyond miserable. It's hard enough to get him to play along with this charade when he is in a good mood, when he is petulant it will be a misery."

 

Grant took a small sip of wine and smiled. "Stop worrying. You're too pretty to worry," he offered with a wink. "And Louis should stop worrying as well. Harry is not cheating."

 

"What makes you think that?"

 

Grant responded with a knowing smile, "I just know things. Even if he wanted to - which he doesn't - he doesn't have the opportunity."

 

"Well I wish to god you would explain that to Louis! Ever since the engagement they have been at cross purposes to each other, and frankly, it's getting annoying. It was bad enough having to catch crap from Harry every time I got summoned to see the queen. Now I'm getting it from Louis as well. I am certain both he and Harry blame their problems on me. It seems like everyone does these days." Eleanor frowned deeply, her eyes beginning to lose focus.

 

Grant snapped his fingers and laughed. "Hey, sweetie, stay with me now. I am sure no one blames you for anything. But if you don't mind me asking, why do it if it makes you so unhappy?"

 

"I have no choice," she replied as she downed the glass of wine. It was such a frightening relief to actually be able to admit that to someone. The truth was liberating.

 

"Everyone has a choice, El. Can't you just quit?"

 

She shook her head. "Maybe, early on. Before I knew what I was getting into. I didn't even ask for this, you know. My father put me up for it. A business associate of his needed a young girl to play the girlfriend for a local pop star. Local promo stuff and the like. You know, just someone a bit more professional and stable than some girl off the street he might meet. It sounded like fun. But then things got ... Complicated." She paused, looking into his grey eyes. She saw understanding there, and a lack of judgement. How long had it been since she had not been judged for her role in this grand lie? "I even tried being the proper girlfriend for a while, but that came to a proper end the day I decided to pay a surprise visit and walked in on them rutting like demented squirrels. I guess once I knew the truth, there was no need for the bastards that manage them to hide the rest from me. There were business arrangements with my father, with others in my family, that suddenly depended upon me agreeing to a new set of terms. And then, when things would go wrong, I would have new demands thrust upon me. And to ensure my compliance, other contracts were signed with other people. The network of people who would be financially wounded should this go wrong grew and grew and grew; until one day I realized they owned me, wholly and completely. Whatever escape routes may have existed in the early days had long since been taken away from me. I was left with just one direction," she said with a derisive snicker, "straight into hell."

 

Grant reached across the table and took both of her hands in his, cupping them like a gentle flower. "If you could get out, if there was a way to bring it all to an end without hurting those you love, would you take it?"

 

"Oh Grant, don't be foolish."

 

He leaned in, locking his eyes upon her. "Eleanor, if I could make it happen, would you be willing to do whatever I asked, no matter what?

 

The look on his face was almost enough to make her think he was serious. Wouldn't it be nice if he was, though? Wouldn't it be nice if she could be free to have her life back? After three years, could she really dare to dream? "Yes," she said softly, replying to Grant or her own dreams, she was not sure. Either way, the answer was the same.

 


	6. The Brave Knight

The last two weeks of August were pure hell for Louis. Management had moved Eleanor  into his house, much against his wishes, and Harry didn’t say a word about it. No, that is not true - he had a lot to say about it, really, joking that he hoped she could cook because Louis might starve to death, or get crushed under two weeks worth of dirty laundry. Harry didn’t even come up to the house the first day back. He simply gave Louis a peck on the cheek in the car, told him to have fun with Mrs. Tomlinson, and continued on to his own flat. He had left Louis to go home alone; to go to _their_ home alone. With Eleanor. He was in gay hell!

 

But thankfully, and very oddly, it was Eleanor who had a solution to the accommodations problem. All of their families would be in London for the week of the movie premier. So it was a perfect time for the future Mrs. Tomlinson to begin playing the role of the wonderful favorite aunt. She had arranged for all of the girls - Tomlinson, Malik, Payne, and even Styles - to overrun Harry’s house and have a “girls-only” week together. Of course, that would leave no room in the house for Harry, who would have to stay with one of the other boys. And as luck would have it, there was room for him at Louis’ place.  It even involved Harry and Eleanor spending a day shopping for furniture for his flat together, since really, all he kept there was a mattress on the floor. It really was a perfect plan. The press was wildly positive about it, and even management was pleased  with the good headlines talking about Harry making peace with Eleanor, and how wonderfully she fit in with the other families. Everyone was happy.

 

Everyone, that is, except Louis. Things we not the same with Harry. Sure, the love and passion was as strong as ever, but they had stopped fighting. Only when they had stopped fighting over Eleanor did Louis realize that for so long now, the only time they really discussed their feelings was during an argument. When the bubble burst and the defenses came down, when anger tore apart the filters that held back so many thoughts and feelings, then they could say what needed to be said. But now, they didn’t even have that. They had love. They had wild and unabashed passion. They made love whenever possible like it was an olympic sport and they were going for the gold. But they also had a heartbreaking silence that seemed to bother only Louis.

 

Worst of all, there was a secret. For three months now Harry had been talking to someone. Text messages at weird hours. Quiet phone call behind locked doors. Louis asked him about it a few times, but the answers were always the same: nothing, no one, just a friend. It was slowly tearing Louis apart.

 

A few days before the premier there was another secret bathroom call. Louis knew he shouldn’t have listened at the door, but fear and a steadily growing anger got the better of him. Whomever Harry was talking to was in London, which excited Harry greatly. And Harry was insisting, begging even, that “Duncan” come to the premier as his guest. He would have tickets waiting for him. It seemed that Duncan had refused the offer. But, it seemed, they would have supper tomorrow, at Duncan’s place.

 

Louis didn’t sleep that night. Instead, he lay awake, Harry wrapped around him like Harry was protecting the most precious jewel from the monsters in the night. But the monsters came just the same. Images of Harry being with someone else. Someone else touching him, kissing him ... someone else loving him. The fear of losing Harry drove him mad. The jealousy soured his soul. And anger fogged his mind until all that remained was manic rage and the desire, no, the need to make this “Duncan” suffer as much as Louis now suffered.

 

It was close to dawn when Louis’ poisoned mind forced his body into action. He slipped away from the embrace of his boyfriend and quietly left the room, Harry’s phone in hand. He knew Harry well enough to know that he would never remember an address, and always wrote them down somewhere. He could find no text messages to or from Duncan, meaning that Harry was deleting them. He could find nothing in the address book that seemed unusual - of course, Harry knew so many damned people he could spend a month going through each one. But luckily for Louis, Harry did not delete his call history. That was enough for Louis to finally find the contact information for this Duncan, and sure enough, the address for a house in Chelsea that Harry had added to the contact.

 

Louis didn’t even bother to put the phone back in the bedroom. He simply dropped it on the sofa and he grabbed a hooded jacket and pulled on his shoes. Thirty seconds later his car was speeding through the early morning London traffic, making his way to a small street in an affluent part of Chelsea, to do ... Well, frankly, he hadn’t thought that far ahead. He he knew he had to do something!

 

A sane man would have appreciated the fine architecture of the row of grey stone houses. A sane man would have heard the birds singing in the trees of the park across the road. A sane would not be climbing the five steps to the door and banging like a mad man, demanding entrance. But Louis was no longer a sane man.

 

The was opened by an older man, broad across the shoulders, with long and wild white hair and a a beard that could only be described as epic - Louis briefly flashed on an image of the Greek god Zeus before rage fogged his thoughts once more. His grey eyes showed no emotion as Louis stood before him, demanding to see “that prick Duncan” immediately. He said not a word as Louis pushed past him, storming into the hallway, half climbing the stairs before returning, and rushing into the sitting room, shouting for Duncan to get his boyfriend-stealing ass down here right now to face him. Threats were shouted. Promises of intense physical harm were offered. And the only reply came from the old man, who offered a soft laugh before fixing Louis with a rather unpleasant stare.

 

“I am Duncan, Louis. I would like to say it is a pleasure to meet you, but I have never had much patience for fools,” Duncan said as he moved past Louis to sit in a high-backed chair in the sitting room. “Would you care for a cup of tea? Or would you foolishly throw it at me in a fit of pique?”

 

Louis spun around to face the old man. This was Duncan? This was the man who was stealing Harry’s attention and affection? His stomach turned slightly as thoughts of Harry and this old man filled his mind.

 

“You’re a liar!” Louis spat. “You have a son, or a grandson ... You’re not ... Harry wouldn’t, not with ... you’re ... old.” Louis’ voice was failing him as his fearful and insecure mind attacked him from all sides.

 

Duncan steeped his fingers in front of him, regarding Louis cooly for a few seconds. He had two choices, it seemed, and finally settled on the worst of the two. “Harry wouldn’t what?” he challenged Louis in a tone that reeked of unashamed malice. “Harry would go online the night you left him to get engaged to Eleanor? Harry would’t pick up a man online, staying at the same hotel in Zurich? Harry wouldn’t spent most of the night with me, seeking comfort and love when he was feeling the most alone and abandoned?” Duncan could see the effect his words were having on Louis, but he did not hold back. “Harry wouldn’t keep me as his dirty little secret from you? That is why you are here, after all, because of the secret. Do you want me to tell you what we did that night in Zurich, Louis. Do you want all of the kinky little details? I think you would be impressed with your boyfriend. I had simply planned on fucking a rent boy that night. But Harry - Oh he was so much better than anything my wealth could ever buy!”

 

Louis felt his stomach leap as his heart and soul shattered. His hand flew to his mouth and pain and panic filled his eyes.

 

“Up the stairs, first on the left,” Duncan said soft before Louis turned and ran to the bathroom.

 

Duncan shook his head as he took a sip of his tea. What a shitty way to start the day. But it was soon time for breakfast, so he might as well make it a good one. He lifted his phone from his pocket and dialed a number. The Cheshire voice that answered was still mostly asleep to the point of near incoherence. But Duncan would soon wake him up. “Harry, it’s Duncan. There is an emergency. Please, come here right away. The door is open. Please, Little One, please hurry.” He ended that call without waiting for a reply from Harry. He should have about fifteen minutes alone with Louis, less if he remained in the bathroom too long. But that should be enough to lay some foundations.

 

Louis came down the stairs about five minutes later, his legs still rather weak and his face deathly pale. He looked as if his entire universe had collapsed upon him, and only he remained, a singularity of infinite density forced in upon itself.

 

“Louis,” Duncan said gently, moving to place an arm around about the broken boy. “Come. Sit with me. I have tea. We can talk.”

 

Louis swung at the offered arm, his eyes suddenly wild with fury. “Go fuck yourself! You fucked my boyfriend you old bastard!”

 

Duncan could contain the small laugh that escaped his lips. Young love - so fragile and unsure of itself. “I never said that, Louis. You just assumed. You’ve been assuming a lot of things that are simply untrue.”

 

Louis paused just a moment, torn between running for the door and considering the old man’s words. “You ... he didn’t...” was all he managed to stammer out before his knees collapsed under the infinite weight his his fallen universe.

 

Duncan wrapped one of his large arms about Louis’ waist and all but carried him into the sitting room and sat him upon the love seat next to his chair. Duncan allowed himself a small moment of pride that he had started working out again. The extra twenty pounds of muscle that was beginning to refill his neglected frame was paying off. It would do no good for Louis to have fallen and brained himself on the floor - that would definitely not fit with his plans at all.

 

Duncan took a moment to pour some tea for Louis, who was now barely able to nod his consent to the milk for his tea. “Louis, I did not have sex with Harry. In fact, that we met in person was quite coincidental. My Peter would have called it fate, but my mind is much more practical. But I can tell you with absolute certainty that Harry had no intention of having any sort of physical relationship that night; nor of even actually meeting anyone, I suspect.” Duncan took a moment to explain their meeting to Louis, who was slowly beginning to come back to himself. “But I must say, you two do seem hell bent on coming out in the most self-destructive manner possible.”

 

Louis started a little at that. “What? No we don’t! Christ, we’ve been nothing but careful for three years!”

 

“Let’s forget for a moment Harry chatting up strangers on a gay chat for a moment,” Duncan said, “And refocus our attention on you. You do realize that you have shown up at my door at the crack of dawn, in your Action Man pajamas no less, forced you way into my home, and threatened severe physical harm to the person you thought was having an affair with your boyfriend. Can you imagine the feast the media would have with this story? Really, Louis, what were you planning to do if there was some fit young lad here with an eye for your Harry? Fighting him? Can you imagine the headlines? ‘Louis Tomlinson arrested for assault. Attacks man for having affair with Harry Styles’ Or how about ‘Louis to Harry’s other gay lover - hands off my man!’ Or shall we go with a direct quote? ‘You wanna fuck Harry? How about I rip you head off and skull fuck your corpse! says Louis Tomlinson’ I don’t know what you would call it, but that sounds pretty self-destructive to me. And you do have a rather filthy mind when you get angry, I do hope you know that. But the fact that you didn't blink an eye over the fact that I was armed," he said as he eyed the ornate but deathly functional bastard sword hanging above the mantle, "is surprising. Most people wither like flowers at the thought of being in the same room as ' _The King's Justice'._ ”

 

Louis sat in silence for several minutes, the only trace of emotion showing in his hands, which trembled with increasing fervor, threatening to send his tea flying.

 

“Louis, calm your mind. You are among friends here. No damage has been done. It is quite admirable, really, that you would be willing to fight so strongly and with such abandon for his love and honor; the act of a brave knight, certainly. I am actually very sorry we had to meet this way - I had assumed that Harry would have mentioned me.”

 

Louis looked up at Duncan finally, tears filling his eyes. “Those things you said, when I came in. Why?”

 

Duncan offered a slightly embarrassed smile as he responded, “You burst into my home like a raving fool, shouting all manner of disgusting threats and accusations. What can I say, Louis, I am a bastard, and have no patience for fools. You annoyed me, so I punished you. I do apologize, but some habits are very hard to break.”

 

Louis released an incredibly heavy sigh, one large enough to expand his universe to near normal size, or at the very least, big enough to fit him and all of his conflicting emotions. “You’re right. You are a bastard,” he said with a weak laugh. “God help me, I don’t know what I was thinking! Fuck ... and no, I am not brave. Not brave at all.”

 

“It’s Ok, Louis. These things happen. The bastards have had three years to break you. It is something of a miracle you did not snap like this sooner. But at least no harm will come of it. Although I do intend to box Harry in the ears! He really should have known better! But Louis, it is OK for you to feel afraid and insecure. That is what they have been training you to think and feel. It is part of how they maintain their control...”

 

Duncan was cut off as the front door burst open and a very harried looking Harry stumbled into the hallway. “Duncan! Old Man, are you Ok!” He turned toward the light in the sitting room and froze. Duncan sat there, an amused smirk upon his lips, and Louis, in his pajamas, looking at him with a mix of pure love and broken terror. “What the hell?” he started to ask before he was all but tacked by Louis, who clung to him like a frightened child and peppered his face and neck with kissed and confessions of love.

 

The endearing reunion ended abruptly when Louis suddenly pulled away, staring wide eyed and surprised at Harry. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, before turning to Duncan, “What is he doing here?”

 

Harry looked quizzically at Duncan as well. “Yeah ... what am I doing here? Wait a minute, Louis ... What the hell is he doing here, Old Man?”

 

“Boys, please, come in and sit down,” Duncan said. As they approached, Duncan rose to offer Harry a warm and friendly hug, followed promptly by a swift swat to the back of his head. “Damned fool boy,” he barked. “What is the last piece of advice I gave you in Zurich?” he demanded of Harry as he sat down.

 

Harry cringed at the harsh words. He reached over a took Louis’ hand in his, giving it a little squeeze for comfort. “To support Louis as much as possible. To make the Eleanor situation as stress-free as I could. And do to what made me happy?” he replied, though the statement came out more as an unsure question than a confident statement.

 

Duncan shook his head and frowned deeply. “No, Little One, I said to do what made you BOTH happy; not just what made you happy. Your silence has made your Brave Knight even more paranoid and fearful than he already was. You didn’t even tell him about me, you little fool! He thought you were having an affair! He was so distraught that he burst in here this morning ready to fight for you.”

 

Harry snapped his head to Louis. “You ... you really?” His words came out in a bit of a jumble, matching the thoughts informing him. “Oh god, sweetie! I am so sorry! I never meant ... I was just ... you really were going to fight? Like, real, physical hands-to-throat fight? For me?” Tears began to fall from Harry’s eyes and he leaned in to kiss Louis. “Oh Louis, I had no idea! I love you, you little scrapper!"

 

Duncan watched them with fond affection, deciding not to interrupt their tender moment. The whispered words of love and adoration, of commitment and promises of forever; but underlying it all was the fear that shadowed their voices. Knowledge of just how close they had once again come to plunging into the abyss and having it all stripped away.

 

It was Harry who finally broke the embrace. “Duncan, please, help us!” he pleaded. “We don’t know what to do! I know you said we could win this, but I just don’t know how!”

 

Duncan nodded, fixing them all a fresh cup of tea. “I understand, Little One. You have heard this story already, but I hope you will indulge me. I think Louis should hear of Peter, so that he understands ... so that we can all understand how it is we have come to this point. Then we can move forward.”

 

Harry only nodded his ascent and snuggled in closer to Louis as Duncan began to retell  the tale of he and Peter. The content was the same, Harry noticed, but the emphasis was rather different. This was still a great love story, but the shadows cast by Duncan’s fear and self-hatred were deeper and longer. And regret filled the edges of every word.

 

“Boys, you have to talk to each other,” Duncan implored them as he finished his story.

 

"We talk every day!" Harry protested.

 

Duncan shook his head. "No, Little One. You obviously do not. You speak every day. You natter on about anything and everything except what is most important. For 38 years Peter and I were together, and the only time we really discussed our relationship was when we fought! The rest of the time we ... no, I coasted along as if everything was fine. If no one mentioned a problem, there were no problems. But I never stopped to ask Peter about what he was not saying to me. I was too busy with my work and other bullshit to pay attention to the man I loved and get to know his mind.”

 

Duncan lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “The night he died, Peter accused me of having an affair,” he admitted. “I cannot help but think that if we had talked the way we should have, if I had considered my relationship as worthy of my time and energy as I did my work, that he would be here with me now. That he could even think me capable of an affair is my own failing - just as it is now yours, Harry. How could he know what I thought or felt? I never told him! We loved each other, but I should have made sure he heard the words every day. I should have made sure that every moment of every day we were on the same page and working together as a team. Maybe ... maybe if I had I would have held his faith and trust, and a bastard's lies would not have turned him against me.” Duncan rose and walked over to the bay window. “You two need to talk, damn it! You need to say everything, even the crap you think is trivial and unimportant. There can be no secrets between you, no space between one mind and another.”

 

A long silence fell between them. Duncan stood with his back to the boys, who simply watched him in confusion. Duncan was angry, they could easily tell, but the still did not fully understand why. Finally, Harry broke the silence. "I don't understand, Old Man. We love each other. I always believed that was enough."

 

“Forget what you think you know of love," Duncan said gently. "Romantic love is a lie we invented to sell music and movies. It's a lie we tell children to protect them from the harsh reality of the real world. Think about it, think about your own songs, how many of those are even close to reality? They are a fantasy. Real love is hard, Harry! It takes work. It’s not about two souls becoming as one. It is about two souls being made perfect by the other. Individuals who think and move with one intent, one purpose. No matter the distance that separates you, your every thought, word, and action should compliment the other, and move you both forward toward a common goal.

 

Duncan turned back, crossing the room to take down a small photo from a bookshelf. It was a photo of a very young Duncan and Peter, teenagers looking at each other with goofy grins that screamed pure love. It could well have been Harry and Louis sitting on the stairs. The unashamed love and hope was the same; as was the utter lack of fear. 

 

"Real love is not about giving up yourself to another. That was always part of my fear, losing myself to Peter and his fantasy world where everything was happy and perfect. What I didn't know is that real, lasting, infinite and eternal love is about becoming more than you are, adding another to yourself just as they have added you. That was where Peter and I went wrong - we were never able to be individuals thinking and acting like one. We were often as cross purposes and rarely understanding the other. 38 years and I now think we hardly knew each other at all.” 

 

"Love is not the end result. Love is where everything begins - but it is never enough! Marriage is not an expression of love; it is the conclusion of a business deal. Love brings two people together, but it is the talking that formalizes the deal! The negotiations  are about the little things - who cooks, who cleans, who takes out the garbage. People get married too soon, thinking that is what makes the relationship. The couples that stay together are the ones who are already married long before the actual wedding. They have concluded the negotiations, each one knows their role as part of the greater whole, and together they are unbreakable. If I had treated my relationship with as much attention to detail as I did my business contracts, the last seven years ... Hell, the last 45 years might have been wildly different. And infinitely happier for us both. There can be no secrets, nothing held back. If you really do love each other, than you have to throw everything you have behind it! You must be brave! You must be willing to fight! And if need be, you must be willing to go to war to defend it."

 

Duncan paused as he returned to his seat. “Does any of this make any sense to you, my Little One and his Brave Knight? Oh am I just an old man rambling on incoherently?”

 

Harry attempted to speak, but stopped, seemingly at a loss for words. However, Louis filled the void. “I don’t know how to be fearless enough to be brave,” he stated simply, his voice sounding as weak as the sentiment he expressed.

 

Duncan leaned back in his chair and exhaled heavily. “That you should ever know fear in this day and age is one of my greatest sins, and I am truly sorry for that. But Louis, bravery is not the lack of fear. It is accepting your fear. It is knowing that you might fail, that you might risk and lose it all. And then acting anyway. The Brave Knight is not the one who enters only the battles he knows he can win. The Brave Knight is the one who enters the battles he knows he is sure to lose, and fights for his life! You know how to be brave, Louis. And if you two can move beyond romantic love and find the true depths of your love for each other, you will be an unstoppable force of nature. But there can be no more secret, no more holding back. You must open yourself to the other without hesitation."

 

“Duncan,” Harry spoke up, “your career ... you said you were a bastard ... Duncan, what did you do?”

 

Duncan always knew he would some day have to answer this question. He could dress it up and skirt around it all he wanted, but eventually, the boys deserved the truth. “That is a sad tale best left for another time, Little One. Suffice it to say that the man I was before Peter's death is not the man I am today. That bastard died in the car with my one and only love. I will tell you that story, but please, not today. I only ask for your trust now, and for the opportunity to help you make this right.”

 

"What do you need from us?” Louis asked. 

 

“Do not mention me to others, not just yet. I will let you know when the time comes for the other boys to meet me. For now, the fewer people who know that we have a connection, the easier it is for me to work in the shadows. I do have a plan to make things easier for you, but I prefer to keep it to myself for now. It is nothing for you to worry about. The most important thing I need is for you two to do everything you can to talk things over and repair the damage that has been done to your relationship. The scars from the last three years may never go away, but please, at least let them heal. Remember, despite what the bastards want you to believe, you have not intentionally hurt each other. These wounds were cut by others in your name. Don't let them drive you apart. Learn everything you can about each other, the good and the bad. Learn to understand how the other thinks and feels. Tune out the noise from the rest of the universe, until it is just you two - together, united as one, in complete control of your universe. When that moment comes, you will know what to do in order to take command of this game they play with you. And remember, I am always going to have your back.”

 

Harry and Louis both nodded. “Yeah, we can do that,” they both said in their own fashion.

 

“Good, now, there is one more thing.” Duncan rose and moved to the mantle, where he retrieved two small boxes, one black, one red. “I was going to give these to you tonight, Harry, but now seems more appropriate. I had these cuff links made for Peter and I close to twenty years ago. I was rather hoping you would consent to wearing them at the movie premier this week.” Duncan gave each a box, red to Harry, black to Louis. “They are very special to me. You may recognize the stereo heart design, but it is the outer edge that is the most important,” he said. The cuff links were platinum half-hearts, accented with ruby and onyx. the middle edge was jagged and irregular, with sharp peaks and deep valleys.

 

“They don’ fit together,” Harry observed as he tried to mash his links together.

 

“They do. You just haven’t figured it out yet,” Duncan answered with amusement. “They have a name, you know. Together they are called Infinity and Eternal.”

 


	7. The Other Side of History

Harry and Louis returned home in separate cars, taking different routes, but eventually arriving in the same place. It seemed an apt metaphor for their lives thus far. They tried talking when they got home, but being unsure where to begin it quickly descended into an argument. But Duncan's words did have some effect. Until now, their argument were brief flashes that ended quickly when the other simply walked away. This time, however, they did not walk away. This time they both stayed, circling each other like birds of prey, swooping down to strike and defend whenever some old grievance was plucked from the surface.

 

There was so much that had gone unsaid over the years that it was as if a dam had been breached. As the day drew on and the wounds were reopened and stripped bare, both Harry and Louis began to see familiar patterns emerge; both a blessing and a curse. Slowly, the separate wounds they both carried began to merge into a recognizable web, one that showed how they carried a shared pain, a shared misery, and how others had abused and exploited their relationship. But they began to rediscover a shared love that was not nearly as wounded as they had feared. When the flesh and meat was stripped away and all of the art and artifice of their chosen careers removed, the core love that two young boys had found in each other still remained as strong as ever; as did the sexual attraction, they frequently discovered.

 

They collapsed into bed together that night feeling raw and flayed open, but happy. Happier than either of them had felt in a long time. That night, amid fevered kisses and a shared animal lust that surprised them both (angry sex was now very high on Harry's list, even if he did somehow kick a hole in the bedroom wall without noticing!), they covenanted together that they would start and end every day with a discussion of their relationship. It had taken a day of open combat that bloodied every wound once more, but at least now they knew where to begin their repairs. 

 

The day of the premier started way too damned early, and ended far too late; but Harry and Louis took the time they promised themselves to talk, and plan; even if for the first few weeks it felt forced and overly formal. But it felt good, really good, to be making their relationship a priority as important as everything they had to do with the band. Instead of their relationship being an inconvenience, or worse, a hindrance to their careers, it was slowly becoming something separate and individual. It's own special entity that existed outside of all of the "Larry Bullshit". For the first time in years, it felt like something only they owned. 

 

It was with a united front that they gently withstood their stylist's minor fit when they both insisted on wearing French cuffs to the premier; red for Louis, with black accents, and black for Harry, with red accents. Their management "expressed concern" that their clothing would mirror the other too much, but those arguments were quickly silenced by Eleanor's unexpected choice of a black and red gown, and an off-hand comment from Louis that he might become so upset over the wardrobe selection he may forget himself and say something he shouldn't. Had the threat come from Harry, it might have been ignored, but Louis was usually much more careful and compliant, and management decided not to push the issue further.

 

However, the night was not completely without repercussions. The entire evening Harry and Louis had difficulty avoiding unapproved physical contact. Frankly, every time they stood together, their hands felt gently but firmly drawn to each other. It was enough for the other boys to notice, enough for their mothers to notice, enough for Paul to notice and finally wedge someone else between them every time they stopped for more than a few seconds. But it was not enough. Each unintentional touch, each time flesh met flesh, the smiles intensified, as did the desire. They were drawn to each other as love and lust made a powerful potion boil in their blood.

 

By the time they returned to their flat it was if pure starlight coursed through their veins, along with not a small amount of alcohol. Shoes went flying in careless arcs (Louis hated that lamp anyway), tuxedo jackets landed in careless heaps, and trousers draped the stairs most obscenely. A trail of clothing led from the door to their bedroom, until all that remained were shirts half buttoned, and two lovers completely undone and wild for each other. They made their promised "talk time" part of the foreplay, telling each other every obscene thing they wanted to do over the last three years but were not allowed to try or even consider. 

 

Louis grabbed at Harry's shirt, trying roughly to tear it over his head. But the cuffs gave Harry's massive hands no leeway. 

 

"Cuff links!" Harry gasped as Louis' teeth sank onto his exposed stomach.

 

Louis cursed softly, the filthy words sounding more like a promise than an expletive, as he removed his own cuff links, then Harry's, tossing both sets onto the bedside table. If asked later why the clicking sounds they heard even registered, neither would be able to give a proper answer. But the sound was so out of place that it was enough to draw their attention to the bedside table, and the two sets of links now firmly joined together in two perfect red/black hearts. They did not fit together as a puzzle piece, but instead locked at the edged.

 

Harry grabbed for his phone as he barked out a wild laugh. This was too perfect not to share! A few minutes later the picture of the cuff links was on Twitter and Instagram, with the message _"Cheeky Old Man! Magnetic cuff links! What's the pattern?"_ Then the phone was abandoned, and all thoughts of the secret of the cuff links as well, as love and lust regained control and the lovers celebrated their night in the best way they knew how.

 

They had the next day off, so a lie in and a day on the sofa talking was as far as their planning could manage. However, shortly after noon their solitude was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Simon had come to visit.

 

Simon ignored the usual pleasantries and he made his way into the living room. "The cuff links. Let me see them," he commanded in a tone that left no room for argument. Harry went to their bedroom to fetch them immediately, leaving Louis alone to entertain Simon. Louis noted that Simon seemed a little on edge, not angry, more ... Spooked. As Harry re-entered the room Simon's eyes focused immediately upon Harry's closed hand, watching his approach as if he carried something toxic.

 

Harry gave the cuff links to Simon, who visibly shuddered when he saw them. Simon remained very quiet for several minuted, staring at the still-joined links and swallowing hard many times. When he finally spoke, his hard tone now carried a noticeable, and thus far never before heard, element of fear. "Where did you get these?" he demanded.

 

Harry and Louis risked a sideward glance at each other before Louis spoke. "They were a gift from a friend, to congratulate us for the movie premier," he responded, his tone even. It was easier to tell part of the truth than risk a lie. 

 

"Where did they get them?" Simon asked in a more urgent voice.

 

"Estate sale. In Canada, about seven years ago, I think," Harry said quickly as he sat down. "Is there a problem, Simon?"

 

Simon allowed himself a little laugh as very visibly relaxed. How odd that he should become so worked up over a set of cuff links. "A problem, Harry? Have you checked Twitter today?" he asked, his tone now much closer to normal, if not a little reproachful.

 

Harry shook his head before reaching for his laptop. Within a minute his face morphed from mild curiosity, to near abject terror, before finally settling on somewhat smug amusement. Various versions of #larrysex, #larrylovelinks, and #larrybedroompics were completely filling the worldwide trends. Apparently his little photo, which was rather amusing in the intoxication of last night, had sparked a firestorm. Of course, in the light of day, what else could be expected of a picture of the cuff links worn by he and Louis that night, now linked together, on an obvious bedside table, complete with a part of the bed visible in the shot. Crap! They were were sure to be in shit now; but he regretted nothing!

 

He slid the laptop over to Louis, watching his face display the same spread of emotions.   But Louis' proud smugness held something else - defiance. "Hmmmm ... So in other words, Simon, what usually happens after we are at a public event. I am not seeing a problem here." This was rather unlike Louis.

 

Simeon's eyes went a little wide at that, a little too frighteningly wide. Louis usually didn't talk back like this. "You do realize, Louis, that your management will be forced into some damage control."

 

"Of for the love of god, Simon!" Louis exclaimed as he reached for his own phone on the table. His fingers rapidly tapped out a message. "There, crisis averted!" he snapped as he tossed the phone back on the table. A second later a new twitter message app rated on the screen: @Louis_Tomlinson:  5 lads, 11 bedrooms, 2 cuff links, 1 pic. Lots of theories, endless possibilities. But only 1 thing is certain: Harry mugged me! Now relax!

 

"Do you really think that will be sufficient," Simon asked.

 

"It will bloody well have to be, won't it, Simon? It's the best the bastards are going to get from either of us," Louis snapped back. "Really, who is any of this hurting? I'm done overreacting all the time. Niall will fart, or Zayn will wink, or Liam will teach Loki a new trick, and this will be forgotten. I refuse to make more of this than it really is." And Harry had to admit, his Brave Knight going to battle for them was a freaking turn-on!

 

Simon leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples. "Do you boys know the history of those cuff links?" he asked. There was a weariness to his voice now, which again was very unlike Simon.

 

Harry shook his head, placing a firm hand on Louis' knee. "No, not really. Is there one?"

 

Simon fixed them both with a hard gaze. "Pain, misery, needless cruelty, and the most self-hating, immoral man I had ever met," Simon began. "The trick to them, you see, is the thin strip of black mental along the outer edge. Some sort of ridiculously magnetic metal Peter paid a fortune for. Put the matching strips within two feet of each other, and the magnetic pull between them is near impossible to resist. I think it was the only way Peter could ever get AD to come close to holding his hand in public.They are called " _Infinity Eternal_ ", and the pattern in the middle is the waveform of my friend Peter singing the words. They make the title for one of the greatest love songs ever written; written for a man so seemingly devoid of love or compassion as to be almost sub-human. But Peter loved him, and felt their love was once worthy of song." Simon stopped and shock his head. "But there is no need to bore you with this story," he finished as he rose to leave.

 

"NO!" both Harry and Louis shouted. "Please, Simon," continued Harry, "we want to hear it. This man, the one Peter wrote the song for, did you know him?"

 

Simon sat back down and nodded. "I knew him. AD McVale was a mentor of mine. Brilliant man, he had fingers in just about every aspect of the music world you could imagine. He could see industry trends years before they happened. His stable of artists were award winners, the best of the best, and a huge part of it was because they had AD managing their career." Simon paused as his expression darkened. "But he wasn't happy just managing careers. He .. Did not play well with people. He took control of lives. If you wanted the success he could give you, then you had to play his game by his rules. Hell, he wrote the book on modern music management! But he was hard and unforgiving. He reduced people down to marketable talents and an image he could sell, with complete disregard for personality or personal needs. And if you went against him... I cannot tell you the number of people he broke over the years. That bastard died with a lot of blood on his hands."

 

"I met him about 25 years ago. I was working for a label that wanted one of Peter's songs. They had sent several others to meet with Peter, and by default, with AD and his shark of a lawyer, and the result had been the same: a firm no, and an employee who needed time off to recover. Someone decided it would be a good idea to send the new guy - I suppose I was expendable, and they had nothing to lose at this point with one more try. So off I was bundled to his offices here in London, the little lamb to the slaughter. I had heard stories of what to expect from the "King of Swords", the name of his management company, and the title everyone had come to call him. I thought the meeting had went horribly. I knew it was a failed effort, so I simply told him the truth to the questions he asked, admitted my fear when he challenged me on it, and explained to Peter why our group should at least be given a chance to play the song for him and see if he liked it."

 

"The next morning I was called into the office of one of the senior managers at the label and congratulated, we got the song. Oh, and by the way, it came with an additional price: me! AD would not grant recording rights until I was under contract with his company. If the label wanted the song, they had to release me to sign a contract with the King of Swords. And of course they said yes. That was my first introduction to AD's negotiating style. He worded the arrangements in such a way that if I didn't go to work for him, I would be in violation of my contract with my label. Within the course of one night a single man had completely changed the course of my career and I was absolutely powerless to stop it.  That was how the Old Man worked, through. By the time he entered the room, he had already stripped all of your choices away, so that the only thing that remained was exactly what he wanted. The only way to get out alive was to obey his commands."

 

"Simon," Harry interrupted, "Why did you just call him the Old Man?"

 

Simon smiled, a touch of fondness showing on his face. "He wasn't all bad, I suppose. He had his moments, but the overall image sort of ruins them in my mind. It was a name I had given him shortly after I started working with his production company. We were not that far apart in age, but AD always acted so much older and more reserved. I used to joke that he was born as little old man. The name sort of stuck, I guess. I even got brave or stupid enough to say it to his face one day." Simon laughed a little. "That was the day he decided that the two inches in height he had on me was enough to justify calling me his Little One. Those were our names for each other for the next two decades. Look, I loved the Old Man, he was my friend and mentor, and helped me get to where I am today. But I cannot lie and say that he was a ... He was not a 'good' man. He was rather paranoid, temperamental, vicious, and exceptionally cruel."

 

"He started off managing various artists and groups, in his very early days, but his ambition was almost as endless as Peter's financial support. If there was someone he wanted in his stable, he would not just go for their contract, but the entire company that managed them. And he was absolutely ruthless, boys, beyond imagine! He had no financial limits, you see, Peter would throw as much money around as AD wanted. Only the largest firms stood a chance against that kind of money. You couldn’t say no to AD, he wouldn’t allow it. Anyone who tried was obliterated. Utterly ruthless bastard ... if someone tried to oppose him, he would ‘go to war’ as he called it. Every secret, dirty or otherwise, would suddenly find it’s way into his hands. He would buy off your employees to start sabotaging your company. He had one man - I only ever heard AD speak of him once, and even then he only referred to him as X - who took care of the dirty work for him. And once AD had set X upon you, it was all over. You business would be torn to shreds from the inside. Your personal life would be flayed open and laid bare for all the world to see. And in the end, AD would get exactly what he wanted. By the time I came to briefly work for him, it was almost a given that you never went against AD. He was the King, and we all his loyal subjects. As long as the King was happy, everyone could enjoy peace and prosperity.”

 

“But his happiness came at a terrible price for those he managed. He was brutal and unforgiving. When I say he has blood on his hands, I mean that quite literally. He was closely involved with Nirvana in 1994; but we thought that was just a freak aberration. But when he was again involved with INXS in 1997, I knew he was responsible. He may not have pulled the trigger, but his demands and lack of concern for the people he managed loaded the gun." Simon rose, pinching his nose as he walked to stare out a window in silence. The weight of his words were like the burden of Atlas upon the shoulders of Harry and Louis. "If you tried to rebel, he wouldn't punish you. But he would make life hell for your family, friends, band mates, anyone he knew would hurt you the most. If you spoke out against his actions, they got it even worse. Nothing illegal, mind you, but a man like AD could lock as many doors as he opened. Eventually those closest to you would come to hate you - he always made they knew that their misery was your fault. They would force you to shut up and behave. He would strip away your support, then break you. It was all about fear and control." Simon lower his head as the pained silence returned.

 

"AD was not a monster, though," Simon eventually continued. "He just ... He wanted so much more than was possible. And really, Peter was little help at all! He continually fed AD's ego, building up the fantasy that AD could control everything in the world. I was told that when AD was first setting himself up, Peter was very fascinated by tarot. He would have them all around their house, and painted variations on the cards at least a dozen times each over a period of three years. Peter was like that. An idea would randomly pop into his head one day and become an obsession for days, months, even years. It must have been Peter's idea to use the name and image of the King of Swords for his company. And I know for a fact that it was Peter who designed and commissioned that accursed bastard sword AD had with him at every meeting. _The King's Justice_ it was called, because of course the bloody sword needed a bloody name!"

 

"I suppose it was a beautiful weapon, but frankly, by the time I got to see it, there was such a fear attached to the sight of the thing that it chilled my blood every time I was in the room with the damned thing. The blade itself was a basic weapon of war, but the hilt was what made it special. The cross bar was designed to look like angel wings, connecting to a grip that was the body of the angel, ending in a pommel of etched crystal. Essentially, and angel standing upon the world. Near the hilt, the angel held an enameled King of Swords card in his hands. As I said, a beautiful work of art. Until you flipped the god damned thing over. The theme was the same, except the angel now became a demon, and the card he held was inverted. I remember a colleague telling me on my first day to pay attention to which side of the sword was showing whenever we entered AD's office - the angel meant you were safe, the demon ... Not so much."

 

"It was all a game to him, you see. I don't think AD ever considered that he was dealing with real people. But he was not a monster ... There were times when I could see just how much he loved Peter. No one EVER mentioned their relationship - that was a fast track to oblivion. They were together, but it was understood that any mention of their relationship or sexuality was strictly off limits. I don't think AD every actually admitted that he was gay. He adored Peter; but he also neglected him terribly. We all suspected that Peter was was mentally unwell, but AD didn't seem to notice the every increasingly wild swings in Peter's mood and personality. I could never understand them, really. They were madly in love, but year by year Peter grew darker, sadder, and AD didn't seem to notice at all! But I do think AD saw his relationship as he saw everyone else in his life - more of a theoretical enterprise than something real that needed a tender touch."

 

"AD never noticed or really didn't care about Peter's ever obsessive involvement in the LGBT rights movement in the US and Canada. He never mentioned a word when Peter began investigating adoption options in the late 80s, only to find out that most countries would not allow gay men to adopt, or if they did, would not allow a gay couple to both adopt the same child. Peter wanted a little girl, his Elizabeth Ruth, named after their grandmothers, and he spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on litigation and lobbying various governments to allow same-sex adoption. Christ, AD must have read the book Peter wrote on the issue! But he didn't bat an eyelash. He had the same reaction when Matthew Shepard was dragged out to that fence in Wyoming, beaten near to death for being gay, and left for dead. Peter left for America within hours of the story breaking, and stayed for close to a year working as an advocate and writing tribute songs with anyone who wanted one. He vowed that everyone in the world would know about Matthew. I still believe, although neither would ever admit it to me, that he worked with Elton on his 'American Triangle' song from the _Songs From the West Coast_ album. AD just moved his office to the New York location a few weeks later and continued on as if nothing was out of the ordinary; as is his boyfriend was not having what appeared to the rest of us as a complete mental breakdown."

 

Simon turned about and leveled his gaze upon the boys. "AD McVale was my mentor and friend. But he was never a man to be trusted." Simon palmed the cuff links one last time before dropping them on the coffee table. "Your contract contains provisions about morality and sexuality. It all but tells you what blood type you are allowed to have. Your management all but owns your soul. And the reason things are like this now are because of AD McVale, and his management apprentice - Richard. Just remember, Harry and Louis, every misery you are currently suffering is because those two immoral bastards didn't care what happened to the people they managed. If I had only known about you two sooner, before Richard ... "

 

Simon frowned deeply as he took a step towards them. "You're not kids anymore, are you? Somehow you've been smart enough over the last three years to do something no other group has ever really been able to do: get the fans interested in how you are managed. But just be careful, yeah? I can only do so much to help. Richard knows the fans are watching him, but that will only make him more dangerous. He's like then Old Man. He may decide to punish you if your fans become a problem for him. But you two really have matured a lot, especially this summer. I really am proud of you boys," he said as he crossed the small space until he was standing over the young men in his typically intimidating fashion. "Now before I leave, is there anything you need to tell me?" He asked, not hiding the concern in his voice.

 

Harry flashed a brilliant smile, full of teeth and dimples. "Simon, I can honestly that there is nothing I need to tell you," he replied with just the slightest emphasis on the word need.

 

Simon nodded once, and turned for the door without another word. Whatever other thoughts he may have had he did not seem willing to share. Harry and Louis both exhaled deeply once Simon was out the door.

 

The door was barely closed when Harry was on his feet and rushing to his phone. He paused for a moment to look at Louis across he room, who simply nodded once in return. This had been happening more and more lately, entire conversations passing with a simple look or facial expression. Harry's fingers moved swiftly as he sent the simple but pointed text message to Duncan: _Simon came by. Told us about his mentor, AD McVale._

 

Duncan's reply was rather swift: _Nothing nice, I am sure._

 

Harry: _Why didn't you tell us the truth?_

 

Duncan: _I would have lied about the evil; I would have held back the worst of myself. It was not my truth to tell, Little One._

 

Harry: _Why should we trust you now? Now that we have the other side of the story, Old Man, why on earth should we trust that a man like that would actually help us?_

 

Duncan: _You shouldn't, Little One. But you boys are smart, you will figure out how to use me properly._

 

Louis released a heavy sigh as he read the conversation over Harry's shoulder. He gave Harry a small kiss on the neck as he moved back to the coffee table to retrieve his own phone. "Liam, emergency meeting at our place as soon as possible," he said before hanging up abruptly. The less time he gave Liam for questions at this point the better. Their relaxing day off was already shot to shit, and he did not want to go deaf listening to Liam freak out on the phone. There would be enough of that when the others got to the house.

 

 

Niall wiggled his toes a bit as he allowed a long sip-bordering-on-gulp of the slightly warm beer to slide down his throat. Zayn lifted his eyes from the book he was reading as he felt the brush of toes near his groin. He smirked slightly, going back to his book and returning the wiggle of toes in kind. The soft but slightly pornographic grunt from Niall snapped Liam from his thoughts. "Seriously, you two are getting flirty at a time like this?" he barked as he pushed their tangled legs from across his lap.

 

"Bloody hell, Liam," Zayn responded as he tossed the book aside. "A time like what? We knew we'd have to face something like this one day. At least Harry and Louis seem to have a plan."

 

Liam jumped off the sofa, ignoring both Niall and Zayn as they reached for him. "A plan? You call some mystery man who may in fact be Satan incarnate a plan? Jesus Zayn, this is our careers we are talking about! And you heard what they said about management going against our families, or trying to turn us against each other. Our contract is up in a couple of years, why can't we just ride it out?"

 

Niall and Zayn looked at each other across the sofa, both rolling their eyes at the always worried and fretting Liam Payne. They both rose, Niall moving behind the sofa toward the kitchen, and Zayn to stand in front of Liam. "We can't ride it out because it is killing us all, Liam. You know that; you feel it as deeply as we all do. And it is especially hard on Harry and Louis, they've got no one to distract the attention away from them. Fuck, Li, the bastards might try to force Louis to get married! This has to to stop," he said softly, stepping closer to nudge Liam back onto the sofa. Zayn lowered himself onto Liam's lap, effectively trapping Liam between his legs. "We're all in this together, Li. You know - family and friends, us. We're united, yeah?" he whispered as his hands began to gently massage Liam's arms and chest.

 

"There are more important things than our careers," Niall added as he climbed over the back of the sofa, wedging Liam even tighter. He gently but firmly began to massage the muscles of Liam's shoulders. "Ohhhhhh monkey, you are to tense! You need to relax."

 

Liam made what might have been a derisive snort had it not somehow incorporated a very pleased moan into the sound. "Maybe I don't want to relax tonight," he said, trying desperately to keep his voice strong.

 

Niall chuckled as he leaned forward, his body bending until his head was just inches away from Liam's lips. "Yes you do," Niall said seductively as he reached out to pull Zayn in for a rather deep and vocal kiss.

 

"You two are fucking evil," Liam moaned, struggling to lean forward toward the two inviting sets of lips before him.

 

Zayn snickered as he reached down to grab Liam's hands. "Come on, Monkey. You're in the middle tonight," he chuckled as the three of them headed down the hall of Liam's flat to the awaiting bedroom.


	8. Starting Over

The four weeks between the movie premier and their departure for Australia were both wonderful and devastating. After Simon's visit, the boys and Eleanor met to discuss their options. They had been previously advised by Victor that the terms of their contract required them to give their management at least twelve full months notice if they did not plan to automatically renew their contract; which meant they had to give notice by the end of the tour. Victor recommended that they do it before they left, as that would fit with Duncan's as yet secret plans. It would also put management on edge for much longer, leaving more time for Richard’s ego to start making mistakes. The down side, they all knew, was that putting Richard and his ego on notice was like poking an angry bear - there would be painful consequences. Victor had also explained in great detail the various ways the boys could rebel against their contract without crossing any lines, which amused them all greatly! It was mostly stuff they had been doing all along (apparently rebellion came naturally to them), but in some instances, they had been needlessly holding back. Finally, at Eleanor's insistence, it was agreed that she would begin to distance herself from Louis. It was time the "happy relationship" tarnished a little. All in all, everyone was enjoying their time together. El and Grant had all but moved into Louis' house, and Louis was more than happy to live once again with Harry. But the joy was not to last.

Having given their notice of intent to seek new management, Richard was more than eager to milk the engagement for all it was worth, and make sure the boys knew who was really in charge. It was Richard's idea to demand that, after the tour ended, Louis and Eleanor would host a "wedding party" for the fans. They agreed, after consulting with Duncan, on the provision that tickets would be given away, not sold - management would not profit from this farce if they could help it. Three weeks before they left on tour, Eleanor started working with a PR team from management on party planning. Three days before they left on tour, the party planning abruptly ended.

No one knew how exactly it happened - the official line given to the media was that the Twitter account had been hacked by a "delusional" faction hellbent on ruining the engagement. But how it happened didn't matter to little Maggie Shae. She was ten years old, and loved One Direction. When she saw the tweet from the @Louis_Tomlinson account announcing that Louis and Eleanor would be giving away free tickets to their engagement party at a hotel just down the street from her school, she did not think twice about skipping out between classes to run to the hotel to get her invitation. She did not think that the account was run by management, or that the tweet was deleted less than a minute after being posted. She didn't think that it could be too good to be true, or that this is not how these things work. She did not think that the crowd in front of the hotel was already too huge for her to stand a chance, and that she should turn back. She did not think to check the street before darting across. Maggie Shae, age 10, did not think that getting hit by the car would hurt so much, that dying in the street would hurt so much, or that her last mortal thought would be for her cat, and not One Direction.

Louis was beyond consolation at the news. Even though he did not send the tweet, he felt responsible nonetheless. He had sisters around that age, and began to have nightmares about an accident he did not see. Harry was simply furious. So much pain had been wrought in both their names over the years. For them, their families, their fans, and now, an innocent life was lost, all because of words that were not their own spewed forth in their name. But no more, he vowed, never again. Not until they were free. He had a plan, which, thankfully, Victor was quickly able to confirm would not be in violation on their contract, but just barely.

Two hours before their flight was to leave for Australia, each boy issued a single tweet, one minute apart:

@Harry_Styles: WE'RE so happy to be headed down under!  
@NiallOfficial: Louis said there was no food on the flight! I'll NOT survive!  
@ZayneMalik: boarding IN 2 hours. Yay!  
@Real_Liam_Payne: Niall, Louis, CONTROL yourselves!  
@Louis_Tomlinson: It's getting hot in HERE so ... Nevermind. :)

Once they had boarded the flight, another series of tweets:

@Harry_Styles: do re mi fa SO la ti doh! Louis hit me!  
@NiallOfficial: I hope you all know how much WE adore you all!  
@ZayneMalik: wait, where ARE we going again?  
@Real_Liam_Payne: Australia! We are GOING to Australia, Zayne!  
@Louis_Tomlinson: 23 hrs to figure out how to make these four shut up and be SILENT!

By the time their flight landed, the Internet and the press was positively frothing at the mouth over the barely hidden message in their tweets. They did their best to make it through the airport, but eventually the pressure to respond became too much.

"I got this, lads," Louis muttered as they stopped amid the press of reporters. "Ok you lot, listen up!" he shouted over the squelch of the shouted questions. "About the conspiracies surrounding our recent tweets, I am going to say this once, and then we're not discussing such a silly issue ever again." Louis paused for a second, making sure he had their attention, before suddenly throwing an arms around Harry's shoulders and continuing, "When have you ever known us to be cryptic or otherwise indirect about anything?" he stated as he leaned in to plant a kiss on the cheek of a rather stunned Harry, before pulling him and the rest of their entourage through the airport.

Of course management was beyond furious! They were still in the car to the hotel when Richard himself called to reprimand them for this highly inappropriate behavior, and to remind all of the boys that they were required to maintain a "social media presence". Thinly veiled threats were thrown at the lads. But it was Liam who summed up their attitude the best. "Richard, you have control of our Twitter accounts. We are maintaining a social media presence, just as our contract stipulates. However, you cannot force us, legally or otherwise, to personally use them. Make all the threats you want, what can you really do? Fire us? Please, be our guest!"

No one in their entourage said a word to the boys about the tweets or the call. No one spoke of Maggie’s death, or the rage in the press that, since they boarded the plane, went from being directed at an “irresponsible Louis” to a “management team prone to social media screw-ups.” Indeed, everyone seemed rather happy to be back on tour, back in the Land Downunder, and free to enjoy the experience.

Everyone except Xavier. He sat in the front seat with the driver, staring out the window in ice cold silence. He had been this way since just before they boarded the flight, when Granted handed him a small envelope as they were saying good-bye. “From the Old Man,” is all Grant had said, but Xavier did not need to open it to know exactly what was in it. He waited until they were in the air, and he had the privacy of a bathroom, to open the envelope that weighed him down even now. He removed the white tarot card, the King of Swords, in the inverted position of the terrible tyrant, and flipped it over. As he expected, a simple one line message from the Old Man: NEVER fuck up like that ever again! Xavier wasn’t afraid of the Old Man like other’s were, but the meaning of the card hit him just the same. A little innocent child was dead, it was all his fault for letting his own hatred of Richard push things before the Old Man was ready. He had wanted to wound Richard where he would feel it the most, in his reputation, which he had. But to do so, he had disappointed Duncan. There was a time when this sort of collateral damage would not have bothered him - the first victim in war is innocence - but that time had passed, it seemed. He was done. Surprisingly, he discovered, looking into his own eyes in the mirror of a bathroom at 40,000 feet, he was ready to be done! When this was over and the Old Man was happy, Xavier was done fixing other people’s messes.

  
The final leg of the tour got off to a rocky start, but by the time the curtain fell on the first show, the years of practice and the pure joy of performing soon returned, and the old familiar patterns returned. They were having fun again. They knew the legally defined limits, and found immense pleasure of running headlong towards those lines before veering off at the very last minute. But it was not just Harry and Louis, all the boys got into it. Liam especially, who seemed to take perverse pleasure in raising eyebrows and other body parts with his “accidentally raunchy” actions and answers.

Harry thought he would have a coronary on stage during the Twitter questions portion of their second show in Perth. The question for the boys was “What was your favorite part of visiting Japan?” Without warning Liam shouted “BUKAKKE!” Zayn dropped his microphone in shock, Niall let out a groan bordering on pornographic, and Harry literally grabbed for his chest. Liam looked at them all with a confused yet smug expression before finishing. “What? That Bukkake Udon we had in the hotel restaurant was amazing! Niall’s not the only one allowed to enjoy food you know!” Somehow Louis managed to move on to the next question, but both Zayn and Niall had to sit down and get some water.

So it went for the next month. Twitter Questions had become something of a mine field - no one knew what the others were going to say, and each of them taking immense pride in daring to stray closest to the legal limit. By the time they reached Melbourne for their final shows, Paul had resorted to communicating with management via email only. He blamed it on the time difference, but in reality, he simply got tired of being yelled at night after night for allowing the latest outburst of inappropriate behavior. He was rather happy Noah had recommended using email, it certainly made it a lot easier to ignore the incessant demands that the boys get on Twitter to explain themselves and apologize. Eventually, Management simply gave up on calling, allowing all communication to be through email or text. Which, in retrospect, was another huge mistake on their part.

On the morning of October 29th, two things really screwed up Paul's breakfast. The first was an email from Richard advising that he was ordering the boys to change their after-concert plans that evening. An unnamed local executive was throwing a birthday party for his daughter, Elizabeth Ruth, and was willing to pay very handsomely for the boys to attend the party after the concert. Paul read the email twice, just to make sure the stress headache was going to stay. Not ten minutes later Xavier came in to tell him that the boys would be spending the day tomorrow with a friend of theirs, and that it should be recorded in the tour log as "contract meetings". He started to tell Xavier about the party tonight, but he was waved away. "I know, Paul. Everything is arranged. After the show, take some time off. We'll meet back for sound check tomorrow. But let’s wait until tonight to tell the boys; I don’t feel like listening to them whine all day."

Paul sighed heavily as he corralled the boys after the concert. Liam and Niall were debating where to go for food, while Zayn seemed to be attempting to coerce Louis into another clubbing excursion. “Sorry boys, we have orders from Management - you’ll be appearing at a party tonight. And no arguing - just get ready, yeah?”

Of course there was arguing - A lot of it. But in the end, professionalism won out (aided by a sweetly worded but bone chilling threat from Noah), and they agreed that a few hours to make a fan happy would be worth it. Twenty minutes later they were standing at the end of a pier at the Royal Melbourne Yacht Squadron with Noah, watching a small speedboat approach from the bay. It was another 15 minutes on the speedboat before they reached their destination, 15 minutes during which Noah refused to answer any questions and threatened to dump Niall into the bay twice.

Their final destination was upon them almost before they could see it, which was surprising considering the yacht was 115 feet long! It had only the navigations lights visible in he night, and a faint red glow from the bridge. The boys were ushered up the boarding ladder, and quickly hurried below deck by Noah.

“Harry,” Niall whispered as they moved down the hallway, the feeling of the ship’s engines beginning to hum beneath their feet, “we didn’t just get ourselves kidnapped, right?”

The boys entered an impressively large lounge before Harry had the opportunity to answer. Sofas and chairs were scatters in small groups about the room, as was a baby grand piano of all things, along with a large buffet and bar running almost the entire length of the middle of the room. The sight of the food quickly waylaid any of Niall’s fears. The sight of Duncan standing before them with his arms outstretched to embrace them all took care of Harry’s fears.

“Welcome boys! Little One, my Brave Knight, I have actually missed you!” Duncan said warmly. “My apologies for the dark welcome outside. I am trying to make sure as few people as possible notice the yacht in the harbor. We’ll be beyond the mouth of Port Philip Bay within the hour, and then we can open the blackout curtains and really relax. For now, may I suggest you relax and enjoy the food.”

The five lads stood stock still for a moment, staring between Noah and Duncan. Noah smirked proudly as he passed Duncan, placing a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Good one, Old Man,” he muttered as he left the room. Louis and Harry rushed to Duncan immediately thereafter, the others in tow.

“Old Man, what the bloody hell...?” Harry barked out, his words jumbled in shock.

Duncan simply laughed as he reached past Harry and Louis to offer a warm embrace to the other three boys. “Liam, Zayn, Niall, it is a great pleasure to finally meet you. I am Duncan Wilde, or as these two call me, the Old Man. Now please, all of you, make yourself at home. I have paid a small fortune for the pleasure of your company at a party, and I certainly mean for you to enjoy it. I have arranged for you to be my guests until late tomorrow afternoon. The next sixteen hours are yours to enjoy, my friends.”

The stunned silence lasted another few seconds before Niall made a decision. “Right. Crazy old guy offers beer and food. Good enough for me,” he stated as he peeled away from the group to attacked the buffet and bar.

The others broke apart to roam the boat and pick their cabins. Harry and Louis paused in one cabin that looked very much like a child’s room. The decor was rather soft pink and frilly. Above the bed was a large portrait of a small girl in a white dress. He hair was long brown ringlets framing brilliant green eyes. The brass plate on the frame bore the name “Betty-Roo, from Pappa Pete”. They did not say anything as they left the room, though both looked as if they had witnessed something unseemly and creepy. When they returned to the lounge, Zayn and Liam were snuggled together on a sofa in the corner, and Niall had found several guitars stashed away near the piano. Noah had shed his suit in favor of shorts and a tank top, revealing an impressive array of both tattoos and scars. The sight of him sent a chill down Louis’ spine - the man was intimidating enough in his black suit; like this he was rather frightening - a predator in his element. But otherwise, everyone seemed to have settled in. Harry paused to give Louis a small kiss before crossing the room to grab a beer and talk to Niall, who, while strumming his guitar, continued to flash smiling glances over to Liam and Zayn. Louis, meanwhile, made his way to Duncan and Noah.

Noah laughed at something Duncan said as Louis approached before moving away from the man once more. “I like you better this way,” Noah said to Duncan, “I think Peter would have too.” With that he turned and headed out on deck with a bottle of whiskey. Duncan watched him for a brief moment before turning his attention to Louis. “The Brave Knight looks like he is brimming with unanswered questions. What is on your mind, my friend?”

Louis laughed, “You could say that, Old Man. This is all a little ... unexpected ... no, overwhelming, really. Why didn’t you tell us you were planning this?”

“The prerogative of being slightly old and stupidly wealthy. I can do weird things whenever I want. I figured you lads could use a relaxing surprise. We also have business to discuss, but that will wait until tomorrow. But I think that is not why Harry sent you over to me. What is it, Louis?”

“Harry didn’t,” Louis began before the look from Duncan stopped him. He had to laugh, because even if they didn’t say the words, Louis knew that he and Harry had agreed upon a plan of attack long before they entered the room. “Yeah, I suppose he did. We saw a room ... Duncan, I thought you said you two didn’t have any kids. Who is Betty-Roo?”

Duncan released a heavy sigh, and his pleasant expression flashed with misery for a moment. “We ... No, PETER, had wanted to adopt a little girl, as you know, our Elizabeth Ruth - Betty-Roo he called her, for some ungodly reason. It became something of an obsession of his. Every place we had to call home eventually had a bedroom done for her, even though she technically never existed. About a year after he started researching our adoption options, he began to paint portraits of her; or at least, of what he imagined she would look like. His ideal daughter. As the years went on, he began to speak of her as is she was real, and simply ... not around at the moment. Louis, Peter’s understanding of reality was not always ... he was not always well. He had an artist’s temperament. When he died ... I had lost him; I couldn’t bring myself to erase Betty-Roo as well. She was perhaps more real to him than I was most of the time.”

Louis had no words. How do you offer comfort for something that was so equally heartbreaking as it was creepy as hell? So instead he did what he knew best, he wrapped his arms around the huge man - seriously, Duncan must be working out, he’s bloody massive now, Louis noted, even if his hair and beard were even more wild than ever - and hugged him for all he was worth. The passed the next while in quiet conversation about nothing in particular, sliding easily from music, to football, to travel, to families, and anything else that happened to cross their minds.

Meanwhile, across the room, Harry and Niall had both found guitars and had settled into meandering riffs and complimentary chords, and the occasional hint of conversation. Their attention is momentarily broken by a bark of laughter from Zayn and Liam in the corner, who have all but knotted themselves together. The sound was enough to bring Harry back to the question that has been bothering him for days now. “Niall, you OK, mate?”

“Yeah, m’fine me ol’ son” Niall replied, finishing off what Harry expected was some of Noah's whiskey. Fool Irishmen, they were thick as thieves and took great joy in trying to drink each other legless, a game Niall has yet to win.

Harry stopped playing, and turned to face Niall proper. “No, Niall, look at me,” he implored. He waited until Niall stopped playing as well, and he had his full attention. Harry jerked his head toward Zayn and Liam, and asked again, “Niall, are you OK?”

Niall crinkled his nose and allowed a little chuckle to escape his lips. “Yes, Harry. I’m Ok. Better than Ok, if you must know. Why the sudden concern?”

“It’s not sudden!” Harry defended. “But .. uhm ... look, we know you had a thing with both of them at one point or another, and well ... now ... I just wanted to make sure that you were ... Jesus Niall, it’s Ok to have a broken heart, you know!” Harry stammered. He really should have left this to Louis - Louis would have known what to say!

This time Niall didn’t attempt to hold back the laugh. “Oh bloody Jesus, Harry. Some days I swear, you’re so far up Louis’ ass you wound’t notice the sun unless he opened his mouth! I am fine! WE are fine, all of us,” Niall said reassuringly, “I’ve found a balance with Zee and Monkey.”

Harry lifted a brow, “Zee and Monkey?”

Niall blushed softly. “Bloody whiskey,” he muttered, “always gets me and my mouth into trouble. Yes, Zee and Monkey. Like Hazza and Boobear, except not near as disgustingly pixie-doll sweet.”

“Zee I can understand, but Monkey?”

“God Harry, let it go, Please!” Niall implored him.

“Nooooooooo,” Harry whined as he began to poke Niall. “Tell me! TELL ME! Niaaaaaaalllllllll teeeeeelllllllll meeeeeeeeeee!!”

“You stupid son of a donkey twat fine! Look, it’s like this ... uhm ... remember how Zayn used to disappear for a few days? No one knew where he was and stuff,” Niall began while Harry eagerly nodded. “Well, a while back now this ... thingamy ... with us started, and... Well Zayn wanted to celebrate, sort of. So we had some time off, told you lads we were all going different places, and instead we went tot his hotel he had found in Germany. Nice place, out of the way ... but it caters to a ... specific clientele. The room we had was a Jungle motif, yeah? Swings, vines, and ... “ Niall paused as the memory made him blush so bright he was near incandescent. “Money bars. Look! You’re not getting details, ok! But let’s just say Liam is damned athletic and wickedly flexible, especially considering he was fucking hanging upside down by his legs at the time! I called him my Monkey boy ... and well, Monkey sort of stuck.”

Harry’s jaw might as well have been hinged. He just stared at Niall, his mouth opening and closing in both shock and awe. It took him several moments to compose himself; several moments where Niall looked quite smug and pleased with himself. “But Niall,” he finally croaked out, “are you, like, happy? Is this really what you wanted?”

Niall turned to look at Liam and Zayn for a few moment before he spoke. When he did, his voice was soft and patient, like that of an old man. “For the last three and a half years I have woken up every morning, and gone to bed every night, thanking the stars that I did not get what I wanted,” he said, holding up a hand to stop Harry’s questions. “Can you imagine our lives if any of us got what we wanted? Think about it, Harry: we had all auditioned as solo acts. If we had got what we wanted, at worst we would have been sent home straight away. At best we would have had to compete against each other, which is almost as bad as being sent home. If we got what we wanted, you might not have Louis. I wouldn’t have Liam and Zayn. None of us would have each other.” He stopped to take a long swig from Harry's beer. “It’s not about getting what I want. I have everything I need! I have a career that ... this stuff just doesn’t happen to boys like me; but it did! I have the best mates I could have ever wished for. And I have love. Not the love I wanted, certainly not the love I expected; but definitely the love I need! I have it, and I AM happy for it. It may seem to you, tonight, that I am being excluded, but that is not it at all. I simply don’t want to join in at the moment. You and Louis are so codependent, I know it must be hard for you to comprehend, but I don’t need to be attached to them all the time. We drift in and out, the three of us. Right now, they are together. An hour from now, the connections may be different. But we’re happy, no matter what the combination is at the moment. Does that make any sense to you?”

Harry nodded slowly. “Jesus Niall, when did you get so fucking wise?”

“I’ve always been wise, Harry. You’ve just shut up long enough to notice,” Niall replied half jokingly.

“Ok, fair point, mate. But just ... I’m just worried you’ll get your heart broken, or that it’s been already broken and you just won’t say anything. I’d hate to see that,” Harry offered, drawing a seriously displeased frown from Niall.

“Fucking shower of ... ZEE, MONKEY!” Niall shouted to the lads at the end of the room, “Will you please tell Mother Harry that you have not broken my heat!”

Liam sat forward, his relaxed expression becoming rather serious. But before he could attempt to stand up, Zayn replied for him. “Bloody hell, Harry, his heart’s not in his ass, so it’s safe. If you want to talk about breaking things, ask him what really happened to his knee,” he called before the three of them - Liam, Zayn, and Niall, erupted into roars of laughter and intense blushing. Niall got to his feet rather quickly and made for the door, heading up to the deck, with Harry fast on his heals.

“Niall, what do they mean? Get back here you kinky Irish prick and tell me!”

  
The next day passed far too quickly, but was relaxing nonetheless. After an early breakfast, too early given their hangovers, they all relaxed about the boat, sometimes swimming, sometimes tanning, sometimes simply doing nothing at all, which was a perfectly acceptable activity. Liam could not remember the last time he could simply stop and not do anything. They discovered during breakfast that Victor had been onboard since they arrived, and felt the need to apologize when he made a passing comment about “rutting howler monkeys.” Of course, Harry could not help but to look at Liam, and near passed out from laughing so hard.

That afternoon Duncan called them into the lounge. “I have a favor to ask,” he said, as he handed a sheet of music to Louis, Harry, and Niall. “Mr. Horan, any chance that you can manage these chords on a guitar.”

Niall huffed slightly, “I can manage whatever you got, Old Man.” He started strumming softly, playing through a full verse before Harry and Louis began to sing. They traded off verses, as was written, joining back for the chorus, until it came to the final two verses, which they sang together, their voices twisting together, climbing and falling, until they ultimately reached the climax together like lovers. As the song ended, the entire room was as silent as the grave. “Again,” Harry whispered to break the silence, and Niall immediately began to play again. They sang the song three times through, each time stronger and more sure than the time before, each time the emotions more raw and palpable. After the third rendition, Niall stood and refused to play again for the tears streaming from his face. He melted into the embrace of Liam and Zayn, who were just as emotional as he was. Harry simply stood still, one hand clutching Louis’ hand tightly. He had no words for what they had just experienced. This song was THEIR song, he was sure of it now. He had heard it before, but something had changed in the singing of it. It now belonged to he and Louis. It was their life, their love, write large and set to music. It was everything he had wanted to say, both publicly and privately for the past three and a half years, but could never find the proper words to express. Yet here it was, the most perfect expression of his shared love for Louis - their duet.

Duncan smiled at them, happier than anyone in the room had ever seen him. “That, my friends, was Infinity Eternal the way it is supposed to be performed!” he exclaimed before throwing his huge arms around both Harry and Louis. “My god, Peter would be so happy! It’s been nearly thirty years, but we finally found the right lovers to claim our song as their own.” Duncan was crying! A sight which seemed to make both Noah and Victor incredibly uncomfortable. “Right,” Duncan said a few moments later, having regained his composure, “Come lads, please, have a seat, we have business to discuss before we send you back to the salt mines.”

It was a lot to take in, and as they prepared for their show that night, the information still weighed heavy upon them all. Victor explained that they would be ready to move with a contract offer within six month, three if necessary. He had wanted another year, but Louis flatly refused. The next few months would be critical, and it all rested on how much the boys were willing to risk for their freedom. Duncan wanted them to “fire a shot across the bow” tonight, some sort of open act of defiance. And then wait for a response from Richard. It was Richard’s reaction that would tell them just how nervous he really was. It would also indicate, Duncan claimed, just how committed Richard was to preserving the lies and maintaining absolute control. Duncan and Victor assured them that they had a plan in place, and had made allowance for every possible contingency conceivable. But one thing clawed at the back of their minds as they left the boat. And even after directly asking Noah about it, it remained unsatisfied. They all felt certain that there was something Duncan was not telling them. And Noah’s answer of “Of course there is,” as if it was the most normal thing ever, did not help the situation at all. All they knew was that tonight they, meaning Harry and Louis in particular, were to take whatever opportunity presented itself to misbehave as much as possible. Their future was in their hands, and they were not certain if they were ready for the responsibility.   



	9. War, Bloody War

It is early February, and everyone is in edge. It feels like the Sword of Damocles is hanging above all of their heads, and the rope is wearing very thing. Their shot across the bow did not have the desired effect. In fact, over two months have passed and it seems to have had no effect whatsoever. But it had seemed to work out so terribly well!

As always, Twitter questions was the real danger zone. Liam was being especially naughty, and Harry nearly laughed himself over the side of the stage when Niall said that he loved the song Walking in Memphis, or any song that involved a jungle room for that matter. The the real coup de gras came when Harry was asked, by @Betty-Roo, to sing a verse or two of his favorite love song. His choice was immediate and powerful. He started with the second last verse of Infinity Eternal, the lover's duet of defiance. A few words later Louis had joined him. They sang without accompaniment, and the audience was in silent awe. As they let the final notes drift into the ether, the arena remained impossibly still for several beats; quiet enough that the sounds of gentle crying could be heard even from the stage. And then pandemonium erupted! The crowd was beside themselves, cheering and crying and congratulating and consoling each other. The crowd in Melbourne seemed universally agreed that they had witnessed something historic. The adrenaline rush carried the lads through the rest of the show like a sweet but destructive drug. Which is probably why the encore went so epically wrong!

The boys noticed Paul come on stage during Twitter questions to speak to each of the musicians in turn. It was not until they were doing their final costume change that they were informed that Management had ordered a change to the encore set. According to the email from Richard himself, a business associate wanted to hear They Don't Know About Us, and so that would now be the final number. "And for the love of god, be-fucking-have yourselves!" Paul demanded in his most threatening tone. He should have known better.

But how could Paul have foreseen what would happen? He had no idea that for the last six months Harry and Louis had been seriously discussing marriage. He had no idea that Harry had asked Louis to marry him several times already, but that Louis had refused, because he did not want them to do it because they felt like Management was leaving them with no other choice. He didn't know about the long talk Louis had with Duncan the night before, about nothing in particular; but one that kept on coming back to doing what feels right, regardless of outside circumstances, and how much Duncan had regretted not marrying Peter earlier in life, even if it would be not legally recognized. And Paul certainly had no idea that during whatever song that was they had belted out during Twitter questions Louis had made a choice.

On Paul's strictest orders, Harry and Louis started the final number on opposite sides of the stage. But like twins suns, their mutual gravity pulled them ever closer together. By the time Louis' verse came up, they were face to face, serenading each other. As Zayn finished belting his high note, replacing girl for an extra long upward trill on the "mine", Louis leaned in to Harry and shouted in his ear, "OK!"

Harry continued singing, looking at Louis with amused confusion. They may have been thinking and acting in sync a lot lately, but Louis often seemed to forget that Harry could not, in fact, read his mind. So Louis had casually raised his left hand to his heart while they belted out that last refrain, and, with a lustful smirk, subtly wiggled his ring finger, reminding Harry of all the times he had asked THAT question.

In retrospect, they probably shouldn't have been flirting and working each other up so much during the show. And Louis really shouldn't have given Harry a full frontal flash during an outfit change, no more than Harry should not have spent most of the second set licking his lips. After all that, with libido running as high as the emotion, it really was not surprising that Harry simply dropped his microphone on the stage and all but jumped Louis where he stood. Nor was it all that surprising that Louis returned the kiss with equal passion, turning what could have been an amusing peck into a full-on tongue-war wet and messy snog. On stage. On camera. In front of thousands.

Liam grabbed Louis while Niall and Zayn pried Harry free, and together the three managed to wrestle the horny lovers back stage and away from public view. Both Harry and Louis were breathing heavy, both from the heat of their kiss and struggling against their captors, and sounding rather more animal than human. The other boys were anything but pleased, well, except for Niall, who seemed to be enjoying himself far more than he should. However, they did not get the chance to unload on the lovers before Paul erupted into the dressing room with murder in his eyes. Thankfully, the momentary pause he took to stare daggers at Harry and Louis before he started yelling was enough to give Noah time to catch him up.

"Paul," Noah snapped quietly in his ear to gain a portion of his attention, "let's see how they handle it first."

Paul's only response was to go stock still, clenching his fists, getting them ready for the job of wringing necks.

It was the sight of Paul that really crashed Harry and Louis back to reality; and from the look on their faces the landing was a rough one. They simply stared at each other, their facial expressions flashing huge emotional ranges in deadly silence. "Twitter," Harry finally said, rushing over to grab his phone. "Call El, we'll need her too. Lads, get on as well, yeah? Just make random statements about losing or winning bets, ok?" Everyone seemed to move at once, although Louis did feel the need to stop and observe that he was in love with a bloody brilliant idiot. Within a few minutes, it was all over:

@Harry_Styles now follows @EleanorJCalder  
@Harry_Styles: :) I win!  
@EleanorJCalder: You crazy biatch @Harry_Styles. You WILL do anything on a dare. Fine, you get to plan the bachelor party. But no strippers!  
@Louis_Tomlinson: I'm scared now! Don't I get a say in this? :)  
@EleanorJCalder: No.  
@Harry_Styles: No! Be a good lad and listen to your wife. But when you say no strippers, does that include me? ;)

Really, in essence, given everything that had happened since August, it could not have worked out better. There was one faction of fans, who, believing that the boys had abandoned Twitter, instantly accepted the kiss as real and the tweets as fake. Another faction knew the kiss could not be real and it was all a joke. Most everyone else, including the press, were not sure what the hell just happened, but loved it anyway! It was excellent coverage that spoke of the "long awaited" reconciliation between Harry and El, the engagement, the return of the "Larry Stylinson" bromance, and the band's general success - always necessary with a new album in the works. All that remained was for the reaction of Management.

But the reaction didn't come. It was not that Richard was not immediately aware that his signature Clients had kissed on stage. Nor was he unaware that they had sung verses from the crown jewel of his friend's song catalog; a song that, until that night, had only been recorded once, and never publicly performed. But Richard had other things on his mind. The band had tendered their notice to seek new management, and had, according to their tour log, met with a potential new management company. There was also the matter of the email, sent from Richard's private and secure corporate email account, ordering a change to the set list - an email he did not send.

In less than twelve hours Richard had suspended his entire corporate IT team at his headquarters. A special group of forensic IT specialists were brought in to uncover the source of the obvious hack, and put an end to it. Richard needed to know how much data had been lost. Someone was aiming for his trophy clients, and Richard damned well planned to be ready for them. He would bide his time, ignore the obvious distraction that had happened in Melbourne, and focus on the real issue. Richard was at war.

His security team could find no trace of a hack in the system. Whomever had sent the email would have to have been at his desk, either at home or in the office, or hard wired directly into the server using his password. Which meant it was an inside job. So by the Christmas the entire IT department had been fired, and replaced permanently with this team of security specialists. Sure, they were a rather mercenary lot, but they were loyal to the money - Richard could trust these people, as long as he was paying them.

It was February 2nd when the final report his his various investigations was ready. And Richard's instinct was correct - someone was trying to start a war with him, one they would obviously lose. The majority of the IT staff he had fired had almost immediately been hired by other music industry firms. Not all that unusual, except that each and every little company was owned by some mystery operation in New York linked to financial resources in Switzerland. No one knew anything about the company, either - it had no name, just a numbered holding company - a front for something or someone else who did not want to show themselves yet. It was the same with the boat that was seen near Melbourne, registered to a front store owned by this mystery firm. Whomever it was, they were good, Richard would grant that much. But he was better. His team was under penalty of death or worse if they did not have a name for him soon!

Someone had gotten to his boys, and had fed them just enough bullshit to make them think they could get away from him. They had been coerced into fighting him harder than was acceptable. Thankfully they had the good sense to clean up their mess immediately; but the damage was done. Far too many people were now questioning Louis and Eleanor (that she seemed to be in on it was particularly vexing!), and some LGBT groups were even openly discussing legal options for a human rights complaint. Fans were getting very vocal on social media, and not just the delusional fringe. Core demographics groups were taking notice and asking questions. Parent blogs were asking questions. And worst of all, the comments and questions were generally accepting and supportive of the boys coming out! this was NOT the brand he worked so hard to create, not the brand that was so acceptable to the conservative moms of middle America. Openly gay boy bands did not sell in America, and that is where the real money was! This was starting to get out of hand. Obviously, the plan was to make the situation so unpalatable to Richard that he would release them early just to get rid of the headache. But that is not how he operation. They need to be reminded just who was in charge.

So it was decided that night that the boys plus Eleanor would be attending an industry gala in Paris, to be held on February 22. Of course, they were traditionally granted this night off for "personal" reasons, but that was a privilege they no longer deserved, and contracts would be enforced.

  
The event in Paris was a farce! Harry was coldly furious the entire time, being dragged to Paris against his will, to attend yet another opportunity for Richard and his kind to celebrate and congratulate themselves. On THEIR night of all nights! Louis was doing his level best to put on a brave face - he always was so much better than Harry at playing this part of the game - but Harry knew Louis felt the same way. The only bright spot of the night was watching Eleanor and Grant. It was her idea that they should insist on a table of their own, away from Richard, and have their security detail sit with them. After all, they deserved to be celebrated too! Grant and Paul were happy to oblige, but Noah preferred to remain with the car. He said he was "uncomfortable" being in the same room as most of these people, and it was better that he and his tongue keep a respectable distance.

But Grant and Eleanor were something else. She certainly made a show of changing the seating arrangements when they arrived so that she was seated next to Grant, and not Louis - that seat was Harry's, the way it should have always been, she stated frankly, if not a little too loudly. Harry liked Grant. He was sweet, charming, ruggedly handsome for a flaming ginger, and brought out a side of El he didn't even know existed. She was genuinely happy tonight. He had seen her pretending to be happy for years, but tonight was something different. She was strong, confident, and happy. Harry wasn't sure when things had changed, but as he watched them, he realized that El had been happy for months. Even when she was being carted off to some other public engagement, Grant was there, and she was happy.

All in all, the night was not completely terrible. It had been a while since they had been this relaxed together in public, and Harry could not help but wonder if this was a preview of how good things would be once they were free from the noose of their current contracts. Harry didn't even mind the second trip down the red carpet gauntlet of press and fans on the way back to the car. A small price to pay for knowing that once they left the law would not allow the press to follow them. Paul was behind them, keeping things moving along, Grant to Harry's right providing a buffer between the boys and the press line, and El was between he and Louis on his left (she was, after all, technically Louis' fiancé). Cameras flashed, fans cheered, and Noah stood by the car door waving them on. Harry had to laugh at the impatient Irishman - he and Niall probably had plans to talk drunken Gaelic again.

Harry didn't really pay attention to what appeared to be a group of protesters off to the right side of the crowd, near the line of waiting limousines. Any time this much corporate money came together, placards were somewhere to be found. It wasn't until there was a scream very close to him that he began to pay attention. "YOU RUIN EVERYTHING!" the girl screamed in heavily accented English. A photographer beside her suddenly wailed and fell and she rushed forward. Paul pushed Liam, Zayn, and Niall toward the open car door. Louis grabbed El as Grant wrapped his body around Harry and El and quickly huddled them into the limo. As the door closed and security descended on the girl - god she was young! Was she even a teenager? - Harry heard her screaming some chant.

"What the hell are Monatgues?" Harry asked, his brain still trying to process what was happening.

"Shut up, Harry," Noah snapped. "Is everyone alright? Paul?"

Paul's pale face nodded. "Back to the hotel, fast!" He ordered the driver.

Noshed turned to look at Grant, who was even more pale than Paul, and leaning against the car door. "Grant? Are you Ok?" He asked.

Grant nodded weakly. "Yeah... Hotel. I'll be fi..." His words were cut short when the car hit a pothole at speed and a pained gasp escaped his lips. Noah scrambled over the other to get to Grant, all but shoving Harry off the seat to the floor.

"Grant, move your hand! I have to ... Ah sweet Jesus... Grant..." Noah's voice broke. "Paul, hospital! NOW! Grant's wounded."

Grant shook his head, " Hotel... We need to get them secure ... You heard..." Another moan of pain had him slumping in the seat.

"Shut up, kiddo.relax, we'll get you fixed up, ok?" Harry had never heard Noah speak so softly or lovingly.

Grant smiled weakly at Noah, "Ok Dad. You're the boss."

El was crying hard at this point, shooing Harry out of the way to place herself next to Grant. "I'm going with him," she said in a tone that dared anyone to challenge her.

Noah nodded once, contrary to Grant's weak attempt to protest. "Yeah, that's fine. You weren't the target. You're safe."

The car was quiet, waiting for someone to finally ask the question. It was Zayn who finally found the words. "What just happened, Noah?"

Noah sighed heavily before he responded. But when he spoke, he looked Harry right in the eyes. "She was not shouting Montagues. It was Mort aux Gays, Death to Gays."

All Harry could do was look away.

  
Noah and Eleanor sat together in the family room of the surgical wing of the hospital. Grant had been in surgery for three hours now, and thus far, no one had been able to provide any news other than that Grant had been stabbed and that the doctor would explain everything after the surgery. Noah had his arm around El, hugging her close. When he spoke, the sound rumbling from his chest startled her for she had thought he had finally dozed off.

"I think my son is in love with you, Eleanor," Noah confessed. "He's not had an easy life. If you don't feel the same way, please, be kind and let him down gently ... And soon."

El shifted to look up at Noah. "I ... I feel the same, Noah," she replied softly.

"Did he ever mention his mother?" Noah inquired. Eleanor shook her head before Noah continued, "I'm not surprised. When she was taken from us, it hit him very hard. Made him very hard. He had to grow up far to quickly. War, bloody war; the first victim is always innocence."

"I was born in a small village just outside of Belfast. Both my parents - hell, my whole fucking family, really, were deep in the IRA. The first eight years of my life I lived and breathed the doctrine of the cause. I was pretty good with a rifle for a kid. My idea of family time was sitting around the table, cutting lengths of wire, while my Ma and Da made explosives, and planned which of the English pricks would get it next. The War never made much sense to me, other than it was what our family had been doing for years. It was the War that took 'em, you see, my folks. Someone fucked up rigging the trigger on a bomb they were planting in a night club. Blew them to pieces, along with a bunch of people just walking by on the street. Not English pricks ... Irish ... Our people. Collateral damage in the name of the cause, according to my granddad. 'Effin' heartless bugger."

"I was taken from my family after that; me and a few cousins, after their folks got convicted of assisting in the bombing. I'm not sure where they all went, but I got sent to a foster family in Bournemouth. They had been trained by the government to help rehabilitate us brainwashed Irish lads." Noah paused for a moment to offer a small chuckle, "Gwen and Frank were lovely people. They never made me feel like I was wrong, you know, like there was something wrong with the way I was raised. They simply gave me all of the information I asked for when it was appropriate, and let me make up my own mind. Frank had served in the Army for years, he lost his hand defusing a car bomb in Belfast, but he never blamed anyone for it. 'It's what happens in war, Noah,' he would tell me, "Both sides think they are right. They either fight until the other is dead, or realize they are both wrong and find a third way out.'"

"When I was 17 I enlisted. I wanted to go back home and help protect my people. Both sides were dead wrong, but I refused to throw myself in with those who recklessly killed innocent people. As it turns out, I have a very interesting psychological profile, and came from a family that was very highly connected in the IRA. I spent the next four years undergoing specialist training to infiltrate the IRA. I was to go in as the long-stolen warrior returning to carry on the family fight, identify the high profile targets, provide intel on planned attacks, turn as many as I could, and generally do my secret best to cock up their operation as much as I could. There were dozens like me already in Northern Ireland, had been for decades, just like the Irish had their own people in the UK, but none with my family ties."

"Six months before my scheduled deployment our plans changed. A family close to my granddad had packed up and moved to America. By this point support for the IRA in Europe was starting to dry up, so they began to rely heavily on money from America. On my 21st birthday I was no longer a ward of the Crown and caught the first flight from Heathrow to Boston. I was to make contact with the O'Dell family somehow, get on the inside, and give the authorities the evidence they needed to cut the money train. It seemed like a pretty damned good gig to me - given the choice between working undercover in Belfast and probably being killed within a month, or the relative easy life in Boston, I figured I was won the cosmic lottery! Some day I wish I'd bloody gone to Ireland!"

"I took a job tending bar at a watering hole near the docks, a place O'Dell and his sons often used for meetings. I had met him a few times when I was a kid, and he recognized me the first night he came in. I was at his place for Sunday dinner the same week. That was the first time I met his granddaughter, Shannon. I would love to say it was love at first sight, but in reality, the lass seemed to hate me for the first year. Her brothers and I got on well, even if Sean was a crazy fucker who always made me nervous. But Shannon, my beautiful lass, she was something else. And O'Dell seemed to trust her a hell of a lot more than he did the boys. They were there for the grunt work, doing the dirty jobs that needed more muscle than brains, or in Sean's case, a perverse taste for blood and pain. I knew within the first month that Shannon was the one I needed to turn."

"Old O'Dell put me in contact with a lawyer he knew, someone who occasionally needed some work done. Sean was too fucking crazy, and Connor too lazy, to go around cleaning up other people's messes. But it beat tending bar, it made O'Dell take notice of my skills, and eventually got Shannon to see me as something than another ignorant manchild. It took the better part of a year to get here to warm up to me, and another two to turn her. And fuck me, girl, if I didn't go and bloody fall in love with her while I was at it! Four years of intensive training would fly right out the window every time she would flick that red hair or flash a smile. But somehow I managed to make her fall in love with me too. O'Dell was beside himself when he heard that I asked her father for permission to marry her. Her father had refused me at first, actually, and from what I was told later had wanted Sean to make sure I never fathered a bastard. But old O'Dell's word was law, and I had his blessing. We got married the following summer, a huge affair it was; and a real pain in the ass to explain to my handlers. They were convinced, I am sure, that I was a double agent. But Shannon and I were feeding them good intel, so for the most part they left us alone."

"Grant was born a few years later, when we moved out of Boston to Cambridge. He was about six months old when the FBI decided they had enough to take down O'Dell and his family. We had made a deal with them: Shannon would testify in exchange for immunity. Old man O'Dell died of a heart attack during the raid, and her brother Connor was able to escape back to Ireland, but they got Sean. He got 10 years for money laundering and conspiracy; for some ungodly reason the jury wouldn't give a guilty verdict on the murder charges. We thought that was it. We were both done. By June 1991 they were in prison or in hiding, I was discharged from the services and pretty much working exclusively for the lawyer and his employer, and we had our happy end in Cambridge, me, my darling Shannon, and our little Grant."

"When Canary Wharf was bombed in '96 I should have known it was not over for us. They money was running tight, the English were relentless in Northern Ireland, and the IRA was getting desperate. I think the old guard saw the end coming, they were as tired of war as the rest; but the younger lot, they were all about settling old scores first. But we were an ocean away, and pretended it didn't involve us. I was making good money working freelance, Shannon was at home with Grant, and the ugliness of our past was behind us. Of course we were told when Sean was released late in 2000, but he had been immediately deported back to Ireland into the custody of the authorities who had their own list of charges for him. Unfortunately, no one bothered to tell us that Connor ambushed the police van that was transporting Sean from the airport, or that both of them returned to the US three months later. I didn't learn about that stuff until three days after Shannon went missing while out shopping."

Eleanor gasped. "Oh god, Noah, they didn't..."

Noah nodded. "It was a full month later when the monsters returned her body. It was a Saturday morning in July 2001, Grant's 11th birthday. He got up early for a swim in the pool. I can still hear him screaming. He just ... Screamed. They ... They cut her up, El. The torso was dumped in the pool. Arms and legs scattered around the back yard. The fuckers gift wrapped her head in a brightly colored Happy Birthday box and sat it on the patio table! Poor Grant thought it was a surprise present. He just screamed, even as I carried him inside, he never stopped screaming. I don't remember when he stopped screaming. It's been thirteen years, and every time I look at him all I can see is my little boy holding a birthday box containing his mother's head and screaming."

Noah stood and moved to pour a cup of coffee. "Of course the police and FBI were fucking useless. Two fucking months, and they had no evidence linking Sean and Connor to her murder. Two months and they had no damned idea where they were. And then they got distracted by other terrorists, and more murders. I guess I cant blame them. They were out of their league with that lot, they were not murderers, they were guerrilla solders; different rules applied. All they could tell me was that the autopsy confirmed that they had kept her alive for a month while they tortured and mutilated her body, that she was alive when she was dismembered, and that she had been dead only a couple of hours before Grant found the body. The monsters waited until it was her son's birthday to kill her."

Noah turn back to face her. "I don't want this life - my life, for Grant. He bloody well wasn't even supposed to still be here, the stubborn little bugger! You were a summer job, damn it! Just get in, make sure you wouldn't cause a problem, then back to Harvard Law in September. The lad didn't even tell me he was staying until we got back to London in August. He stayed for you, El. I don't know what it is you make him feel, but I want you to know, lass, as his father, just how much I appreciate seeing him feel anything once again. But just understand, my boy, I'm afraid he's broken. Be patient with him."

Eleanor stood and crossed the room to Noah, wrapping her arms around him. "I love him, Noah. I'm in love with him. He will be safe with me," she told him, tightening the hug. After a moment, she asked, her whole body shaking, "Did they ever find them?"

Noah shook his head and gave her a kiss on the forehead before taking a long drink of the bitter coffee. "No," he answered flatly, but with a broad smile. "But I did. War, bloody war."


	10. Defiance

Paul didn't question it when Louis announced, as they pulled away from the hospital, that they were returning to London immediately. He didn't question when Harry told him a few minutes later, after a quick series of text messages with someone, that their flight would be ready within the hour. He didn't question who provided the private jet that met them at the airport. In retrospect, he probably should have at least questioned the presence of eight men in suits who met their plane at Heathrow and the four black SUVs they had with them. 'Private security' friends of Noah, Harry explained, which seemed good enough at the time. But his mind was so muddled.

He knew when they left for the gala that he did not have enough security with them. He knew when they first got out of the limo that event security was a joke - two local cops near the doors, and hotel staff. He knew exiting through the front door was a mistake; but Richard had insisted - it was expected that the band be seen, for publicity. Always damned publicity! Noah's son just got stabbed, god only knows how seriously, all because Richard and his friends didn't want the kind of nervous publicity a strong security details brings. "This isn't the 1990's, Paul," Richard was always reminding him, "The days of big, burly security is behind us. We don't want to scare away the fans, after all." No, Paul thought, we don't want to scare the fans. Even the kids who bring fucking knives and attack his boys!

Paul was probably in shock, his wife told him later, which is why he did not notice until they started to pull away that he had been led to a separate vehicle than the boys. It was the text from Liam, a simple "Sorry, Paul - Harry's orders. We need some time away." that jolted him back to reality just in time to see that all four vehicles pulled out and went in different directions. He wasn't even sure which vehicle they were in! Four hours after someone tried to kill one of his boys and he's lost them at the airport! But hey, why not? It's not like he's had much say in security the past year anyway!

  
"So you told the Old Man not to come back to London? Don't we sort of need his help?," Niall asked, standing before the fireplace and gazing up at The King's Justice where it rested.

Harry nodded, forgetting for a moment that Niall did not have eyes in the back of his head. "Yeah. And No. But yeah," Harry replied as he snuggled closer to Louis on the love seat, "Yes, we may need his help. But right now, this is not about him, or Richard, or anyone else. This is about us, and what we plan to do. We already know where this is leading - Richard has two choices left, and one he will never consider, even if it destroys us."

"But how can you be so sure?" Zayn asked.

Louis answered softly and quite calmly, "We know Duncan. We know how he thinks, how he operates, how he would deal with a situation like this. By extension, we know Richard as well. He knows we want new management. He knows there are dozens out there who would love to have us. So he's on a war footing now. He'll attack, whether he really has to or not." Louis paused to take a sip of his tea and enjoy a bit of a ruffle in Harry's hair. "He could put an end to it all immediately by admitting that he was wrong, and letting us come out. But he will NEVER admit that he was wrong. So the only option he has left is to beat us into submission. He will force the marriage to go ahead. If we try to break our contract, he will sue us for everything we have. He will do anything he can to make us so undesirable that we will never find a management team willing to take us. He'll destroy us before he lets us go. It is what he and Duncan did for over 30 years, destroying those they could not control. I see no reason to expect him to change now."

Niall spun around to face Harry and Louis, "How the bloody fuck can you be so calm about all of this?" he demanded.

Louis opened his mouth to reply, but Liam cut him off. "Nialler, come here," he requested, patting the space on the sofa between he and Zayn, "He's calm because there is nothing else for us to do, sweetie." Liam smiled as Niall plopped down, he and Zayn instantly closing in so that as much of the three of them as possible was touching. "Everything I wanted, but nothing I'll ever need," he all but whispered.

"What was that?" Harry asked.

"I was just thinking about my tattoo," Liam responded as Zayn's finger began tracing the words on his arm. "We have two choices as well, really: what we want, or what we need. We have what we always wanted. Why we auditioned. The fame, fortune, we're living lives most people only dream about. I love it, I really do, don't get me wrong! But really lads, do we need it?" He looked at each of them before returning his eyes to Niall and Zayn beside him. "I have everything I need," he said gently, touching Niall and Zayn, "I have you five. The rest ... If we have to live without what we need to be happy, will getting what we want ever be enough? Duncan chased his wants for decades, and was never happy. I don't know about you, but I don't want to ever be like him. I don't want to stand in a grave yard every year regretting my entire life." Liam choked up at the last, being instantly cuddled and reassured by the others. Within minutes, all five boys were knotted together to overflowing the sofa.

They lay there like that for a long time. They had full run of Duncan's Chelsea house, having escaped there right from the airport, and no one knew where they were. Really, only Paul even knew they were in the country. At first they felt bad about ditching Paul, but the last seven days they had spent in hiding had been a blessing! It was so rare for them to get this much time together to simply do nothing. Even more rare that they had time to talk in earnest. That was one of the realizations that had come from their self-imposed exile, just how much work so many people were putting into directing their lives and making sure they had no time to present a unified resistance.

Louis finally broke the silence. "Back home tomorrow, lads?"

Harry responded with a simple grunt.

"So this is it, then?" asked Niall, "one way or another, this is the end of One Direction as we know it."

Harry chuckled softly, "One way or another; bad pun, Niall! But yeah, from here on out, it all changes. Richard will make his move soon soon enough. And we'll be as ready as we can. Hopefully, the Old Man has our backs, but I'm not going to trust him on that one. He's in this for his own reasons, and that may not involve us. But we do have one advantage over Richard and the rest. They don't know about us."

Everyone groaned loudly, and Zayn reached out to swat at Harry, who tried to wiggle away.

"Harry, wiggle your toes again," Zayn instructed. "Nope. Louis, wiggle..." His words got cut off by a rather sinful grunt, "Yeah, gonna have to move them, love. The furniture in here is too nice for that."

The five of them erupted into fits of laughter again; just like the old days.

  
Grant's wound looked worse than it actually was. He had been stabbed in the right hip with a ceramic kitchen knife. When the blade hit the bone, the end shattered, thus the need for over four hours of surgery - it took that long to root out all of the little bits and slivers. Other than a small chip to the bone, the only lasting effect from the injury would be a rather impressive (and oddly sexy, according Eleanor) scar. He was discharged from hospital after a week, at which time Noah returned to London to help run interference for the boys. But Grant and El remained in Paris another week to rest and recover.

Of course the press were eating it up. Every day there was a new headline about the band disappearing, the failings of management to not provide adequate security, the missed interviews, endless questions about the future of the group, and almost daily entertainment editorials condemning the "obvious lack of concern for the well being of five lovely young men in favor of exploitative profits." It was an all out media war against management (and a very well coordinated one, some of the more cynical pundits noted). And then some media reported information from "sources close to the band" that seemed to indicate that El and Grant were having some sort of illicit affair; others were more direct, stating that El was done living a lie and had moved on with her own love life. And that in turn led to many media sources openly speculating about Harry and Louis. The tone of the narrative had changed since the attack in Paris, however. Those who had previously been neutral on the issue began to use very supportive language, and those who were always supportive became downright defiant and hostile, openly challenging management to come clean with their activities over the last three years. Oddly enough, the group rarely dominated the press for this long, and with such a consistent message. Several of their older songs were chatting again, and their latest album was back to number one in the UK. And they had fan armies vowing to fight in the streets for them, vowing to fight for Harry and Louis, which was completely unexpected, and incredibly comforting. They felt like people again, and not just a commodity to be consumed.

Louis had no idea how it all started, but he had a theory. During one call to check on Grant, he asked Eleanor how the French press got permission to photograph her at the hospital, and did she want him to talk to management about getting them pulled back. She simply laughed and said, "Oh sweetie, Katie isn't the only one with contacts in the French press. My story, my terms, honey."

The group - the boys, Eleanor, Grant, Noah, and Paul - met on the 16th of March for what Niall was calling the Grand War Council. In reality, it was simply a chance for the boys to tell the others what they had decided, how they expected the next two months to play out, and to give everyone (Paul) the opportunity to walk away and not be a party to what was to come. But Paul refused, categorically and without hesitation. He had explained that he had watched them grow from boys into strong and wonderful men, but that they would always be his boys, and he would never leave them, not when they needed him.

Thus far they had been able to dodge anyone and everyone from Management for close to three weeks, but all good things must come to an end. On the morning of the 17th Harry decided it was time to answer his phone. Richard demanded a meeting that very day in his office, which was soundly refused. They would meet with him, but not alone, and not at the office, Harry explained. It had to be somewhere they felt safe, not at the offices where fans were sure to be waiting for them. The boys would arrange for a private room at a local restaurant, for Thursday of that week. Someplace suitable for a business meeting. Paul would arrange the security, and make sure the location was kept secret. Oh, by the way, they wanted "Uncle Simon" there as well, so please make sure he was there. It would make them feel so much better. Richard was of course beyond furious, especially at the impertinence of Harry to dictate terms to him. But he agreed, knowing he had a particularly cruel punishment planned for Harry.

  
Simon paused for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose, before turning his eyes to the wall of windows in his office to survey the skyline of London. Lunch was not agreeing with him, which was not surprising, given how uncomfortable the thought of this "meeting" Richard had asked him to attend tonight was making him. This all felt so wrong. He had never intended for any of this, for things to get so far out of hand. It would be much easier if he could blame someone, but really, it was no one's fault. The boys didn't know there was anything to tell until they were already in too deep to change course. Richard was the expert, he'd been involved with the management of boybands since the NKOTB days. He knew what would sell, and how to make it sell! They were the biggest band in the world, and most of the thanks went to Richard and his brilliant marketing and management. But somewhere along the line the relationship turned dark and poisonous; Richard was too much like the Old Man to ever manage a group like this.

Simon startled a little when his assistant entered the room with the courier package. "Sorry, sir, but this was delivered as an open-immediately priority." Simon simply nodded as the young man placed the envelope on his desk and left the room, rather quickly at that. His mood must be darker than he thought if people are avoiding him today.

His mind was still very distracted as he tore open the envelope and removed,the stiff white card. But his clarity of thought smashed back to earth the second his eyes focused on the image on the card - The King of Swords. A hurricane of emotions made his blood run cold as he stared at the card, something he had not seen in more than twenty years, and had hoped to never see again. He had to close his eyes and swallow hard just to summon the courage to turn the card over and discover whether or not he was sent the dreaded inverted tyrant king. The hand-written message on the back was simple "Chelsea house, 3pm", in a cursive script he had not seen in nearly eight years. Simon felt sweat form on his brow and top lip as he flipped the card several times, making sure that he had it the right way. The king was in the normal position, the benevolent king. If he was to be haunted, at least it was a friendly ghost.

It was shortly after three when Simon pulled into a space across from the row of houses in Chelsea. He paused for a moment to simply stare at Duncan's home, a house he has subconsciously avoided driving past for eight years. He did not bother knocking - he never did at this house - and instead walked inside.

"You're late, Little One," Duncan called out from the sitting room.

Simeon's heart sank as his worst fears came true in four little words. "And you're dead. I'd say that makes us even, Old Man," Simon replied as he tried to maintain some modicum of self-control.

Duncan rose from his chair as Simon entered the room. He could not help but smirk at how Simon's face paled at the sight of The King's Justice hanging above the mantelpiece. Duncan strode over and wrapped his huge arms around Simon, hugging him tightly. "You have done well for yourself, Little One. I am so proud of everything you have done. At least my legacy is not a complete failure."

Simon tensed a little at the embrace. This was the first time Duncan had ever hugged him, or spoken in a tone that was anything but sterile and professional. "AD, you're not ... How? Hell, better yet, why? Jesus, it's been nearly eight years...." Simon's words and thoughts garbled in his mouth as his dread was quickly supplanted by confusion, on top of the always present fear that Duncan instilled in him. And then it hit him: the cuff links! "Oh bloody fuck, AD, please! Not the boys! Don't. Whatever it is that you think your doing, not them, please. They've suffered too much already!"

"Simon, shut up and sit down!" Duncan barked. He chuckled softly as Simon immediately fell back into the nearest chair. "May I offer you something to drink? I've just made a fresh pot of tea."

Simon gaped at his old mentor for a moment, as if he knew the words, but did not understand their meaning. "I need a bloody scotch," he grumbled.

"Sorry, Little One, none of that here. I don't drink. After the boys left, it did not occur to me to stock in a bottle of something."

Simon shook his head forcefully a few times to clear his thoughts and refocus his mind. This was all just too much. "Why are you here, AD?"

Duncan returned to his seat, turning a little to make a more direct line of sight with Simon. He remained quiet for a few moments as he set about pouring two cups of tea, offering one to Simon. "Nearly eight years ago, Simon, Richard convinced Peter that I was buggering that little singer you had sent to us a few weeks before the accident. Certain crimes I cannot allow to go unpunished forever. It is time for a reckoning; there are many sins requiring atonement and restitution." Duncan leaned forward, offering Simon a soft smile, "And to answer the question that causes you the most pain, no, I am definitely not using your boys to get to Richard. Well, not in the way you think, at least. I've actually become quite fond of them. But Richard is out of control, and I want to get them away from him as soon as is practical. Which is why I invited you here today."

Simon leaned forward as well, except his was to rest is head in his hands. "You know I have no control over that, AD. If there was a way to break the contract we would have done it already. But it's iron bound."

"Oh Little One, I'm not asking you to do anything; well, again, not entirely true, but I'll get to that part in a moment. I plan to buy out the remainder of their contract and sign them myself. I am sitting on a dragons hoard of money, and I will admit, plucking Richard's crown jewel from him will give me some personal pleasure. All I need from you is that you and the label will not try to oppose me. I'm not asking you to take sides - all I ask is for your neutrality."

Simon began to laugh, "And? Come on, Old Man, there is something else to it. You never ask for anything without offering at least a threat, or a treat."

Duncan threw his head back and howled with laughter. "Oh Little One, I did do a good job with you, didn't I? Alright then - first the threat: I can, with a phone call, commit over $10 billion to this fight, and add another ten to that within a fortnight. If you or the label even consider thinking about moving against me, I'll obliterate you. As you said when you came in, I am supposed to be dead. Dead men have nothing to lose." Duncan gave Simon a moment to consider the implications of his words. "As for the treat, I am assuming you saw what happened during Twitter questions in Melbourne? How would you like to see them record the entire album?"

Simeon's jaw dropped. The entire Infinity Eternal album, all twenty-four of the absolute best, and still unrecorded, songs that Peter had ever written. It was a concept album, of sorts, that Peter and Simon had spent years compiling. Peter had an affinity for the rock opera genre, and from there this album was born. Songs of such varying emotion married together into a coherent narrative of the human condition; a lifetime explained through song. It would have shattered records and altered the music world forever had Peter ever found anyone he and AD deemed worthy to record the damned thing. It still could, really. That was part of what had led Simon to drift away from AD and Peter; he knew what they had with this album, and he knew AD bloody well knew as well, but on something so epic AD deferred to Peter and his flights of fancy.

Simon considered his next words carefully now that he knew just what was riding on the outcome. Unfortunately, somewhere between his mouth and his brain, the words took an unexpected turn. "You don't drink," he blurted out, as if it was the most most important statement ever made.

Duncan simply nodded his agreement and remained silent.

"That night in Zurich, you weren't drinking. You never drink!" Simon continued, his brain snatching pieces of the puzzle faster than he could keep up. "Peter didn't drink either ... Jesus, AD, what the hell happened that night? The news reports said you were driving drunk, blood alcohol level well over the legal limit. They said you both died! But ... but I am almost certain I saw Peter driving when you left the party."

Duncan settled back into his chair, taking a long sip of his tea with his eyes closed. "I have always said that Peter had an artists temperament," he began, "when what I really should have been saying was that Peter was diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder when he was 16. His mood pattern was almost random at times, he fixated easily and bounced from obsession to obsession. He started hearing voices when we were in high school together. He once told me, a few years before he died, that it was the voices that sang the songs that he wrote. All he did was listen and transcribe 'what the angels sang in his ear.' But I loved him, you see, and thought I was protecting him. I insulated him from the outside world as much as I could. I indulged him as much as I could safely allow in order to keep him calm. When he was calm and content, he was agreeable to taking his medication. When things got too out of hand, and he would go off his medication, and I would take him away until he had worked through whatever was happening. But most of the time, as far as I knew, at least, he was relatively stable. And I thought he was happy."

"At the party that night in Zurich, he had a mental break. Which I did not realize until we were already on the highway and driving well over 120 km/h. Only a few hours earlier he had been the life of the party, playing and singing and drawing doodles for people that they probably sold for a small fortune after he died. Peter at his social best. But at some point Richard got him away from the others - probably while I was off finalizing the sale of one of my smaller labels. He showed Peter a picture of me doing some rather pornographic things to that young singer. Until that night, I had no idea that Richard had been whispering in Peter's ear for months that he suspected me of being unfaithful. Peter wanted to get married, you see, Little One, but I kept on delaying him. I was planning to propose to him that night, when we got home, and get married as soon as my retirement was complete. I wanted us to be clear of the game before exposing him to that much attention. But Richard, knowing my assets were soon coming available, had instead turned on me and turned Peter against me by playing into his paranoia. Given that Richard tried to move against the assets of my estate less than 12 hours after the burial has me suspecting that he was not inclined to see me spread my resources among my friends. He was ... He is greedy, and wanted it all for himself."

"For years the doctors had been warning me that it was common for people with schizoaffective disorder to become suicidal. But my god, Simon, did you ever met anyone so in love with life as Peter? It never seriously occurred to me that he could even consider the prospect of killing himself. I was in denial about just how bad things were for Peter. I wanted to give him a normal life. Instead, I failed to protect him from those who would abuse his condition. The night of the crash, Peter was driving. I think it was his intention to kill us both, but I cannot say for certain." Duncan paused, lowering his head. "So there it is. The whole ugly story. 38 years together and Peter's last thought in this world may well have been that he wanted me dead. All because of Richard's unashamed greed."

Simon reached a hesitant hand for Duncan, not sure of how the gesture would be received. But Duncan grabbed the hand with both of his and held on tight. "God almighty, Old Man, why didn't you tell anyone what you were going through?" Simon implored him, "We all would have helped Peter! We all loved that man, you know that!"

Duncan snorted darkly, "But that's just it, Simon, everyone loved Peter. I couldn't let the stigma of a mental illness taint his image. Christ, even now mental illness is a bloody albatross about the neck! It was so much worse all those years ago. It was so important to me that when Peter walked into a room that people saw Peter, the centre of my perfect universe, and not just a schizoaffective mental patient. The only one who knew was Richard, and that was only because Peter told him. Look what he did with the information, Peter's alleged best friend; can you imagine the feeding frenzy around the mentally unwell billionaire if the rest of the sharks and bottom feeders we worked with found out?"

Simon simply nodded. "So what now? What do you have planned for my boys? And Richard?"

"I've already told you what I have planned for the boys - getting them the hell away from Richard as soon as is practical. I've ruined the lives of more gay performers than I could ever count. There will be a very special place waiting for me in hell for that, I am sure; but it is high time I flexed my muscle and started saving a few. But that has only a tangential connection for my plans for Richard which you need not be concerned with; right now the boys are my first priority. Simon, tonight is going to be absolutely key to saving the boys from absolute destruction. Tonight is Richard's last chance to change his mind. He won't, of course, not when he has come this far, but he still has one more opportunity to surprise us all. When he fails to see the wisdom of changing course, he will almost immediately completely lose control of the situation, and there will be hell to pay when he does. You will know the moment when you see it. And when you do, here is what I want from you."

Duncan and Simon continued for a couple of more hours to discuss the plan for the meeting that night, and for the future of the boys. When Simon left the Chelsea house, he was feeling like a mouse among giants. He really wasn't sure how all of this would end, but he was certain that there was a very good chance he would be crushed underfoot without anyone even noticing.


	11. Taking Sanctuary

The restaurant was one of the many "diversified investments" Duncan had spread all over the world. It was accustomed to being booked for private dining on short notice, something Duncan apparently did quite often. Hotels, restaurants, private aircraft as part of the Wilde family shipping company. Harry saw the pattern early, and frankly, every time he thought about it, it made him incredibly sad. Duncan had rebuilt his entire life around being alone and hiding away from the world. All of his wealth and influence had been directed at keeping the world away from him. And yet again Liam's words came crashing back to Harry, and he had to agree: he did not want to end up like Duncan. No matter what it took, he would not replace happiness and love with money and misery.

The boys arrived at the restaurant in the west end of London shortly before eight in the evening, with Grant and Eleanor following in the car behind them. It was Grant who mentioned that the Old Man was not able to completely book out the entire restaurant, there was a small private party in the bar, but they would not be a bother. Frankly, Harry didn't care who was around. He didn't care if the entire world heard what he had to say tonight; he would prefer it, actually. But for some inexplicable reason Louis' resolve seemed to be slipping over the past 48 hours. Harry wasn't angry with him for it, not exactly. He understood that Louis had always born the brunt of Richard's demands and venom, that Louis was generally the one to sacrifice himself to protect the others, and that it left Louis more conditioned to try to make Richard happy. Harry always had to fight for Louis; Louis was his! But still, somehow Louis had managed to talk down Harry's demand for a meeting in a public place to a private meeting at an empty restaurant on a slow night. But at least they had a plan they all agreed upon: they would demand to be released from their contract in exchange for forfeiting their earnings investment portfolio. Surely the more than $30 million they had earned, very little of which they ever actually saw, would be enough to satisfy Richard's greed. If not, they would go to plan B and threaten legal action through the human rights courts. An ugly solution, but hopefully effective.

But Harry knew he did not have time for those thoughts now. No second guessing. He had a role to play in tonight's proceedings, and he had to be ready. He had to calm his mind, and focus on the gentle patterns Louis was tacking upon his thigh. Focus on Louis, the love of his life. Focus on Louis, sweet, gentle Louis, who would never betray him. What would it even feel like if he ever did? How would Harry react if Louis ...

Richard and Simon arrived together promptly at eight. Simon made pleasant small talk at first, asking about Grant's recovery, and if the boys were able to rest during their "week off". Harry let the others do the talking. He was too busy watching Richard's cold reactions, and trying to figure out what emotion he was seeing in Noah's eyes. He had never before seen the generally passive man look so ... What was it? ... smug! Noah kept his eyes on Richard like a predator considering how delicious the prey will soon be.

They were barely into the salads before Richard finally gave up trying to be nice. "Alright, enough of these damned games. You boys have been out of control for months now, and I am done with it. Now say whatever the hell it is that you have to say so we can get back to work and put this foolishness behind us."

The five boys all exchanged quick glances before their designated spokesman, Liam, spoke up. "As you know, Richard, we do not plan to renew our contact with you when it expires next year. We have been meeting with a number of other management companies, and we have found someone within whom we believe we could have a pleasant working relationship. Unfortunately, and we are sure you will agree, our relationship with you and your company has become far too adversarial and is untenable. Therefore, it is our proposal that, in exchange for us waiving rights to our earnings, which you currently hold in trust, that you will immediately release us all," he said, indicating the five lads and Eleanor, "from our current contractual obligations. We would like for this split to be amicable, Richard, and we hope you do too." Liam immediately took a long drink of water to wet his parched throat. All eyes were on Richard now.

"No," Richard said softly.

Both Zayn and Niall made to speak, but Richard cut them off. "No, I definitely think not. You silly little boys," he hissed with obvious contempt.

Simon leaned forward, the concern now evident on his face. "Richard, perhaps there is some room to negotiate. The boy's offer is qu..." But again Richard interrupted, rage and contempt breaking through his attempts to maintain a neutral expression.

"NO!" Richard shouted, "There will be no negotiation! There will be no deals made! There will be no deviation from the contract, not now, not ten years from now! You damned children think you can walk in here and dictate terms to me?" Richard allowed a reptilian grin to glide across his face. "I am done being kind to you, boys. I was lenient because you were still children, but now you have forced my hand. The wedding will be in July. The 23rd sounds like a nice day. Does that work for you, Louis? And Eleanor? Do you think your ginger Tom can keep his stray claws off you long enough for you to get married?"

The table erupted! The boys were on their feet shouting their dissent. Eleanor was in tears, and yet smiling victoriously. She wanted this, said the thoughts in Harry's mind, this was her plan all along. Simon simply stared at Richard in resigned shock. It took several minutes for Paul and Noah to calm everyone down enough to get them back in their seats and make sure violence didn't occur.

Richard simply smiled the entire time. When the shouting subsided enough for him to be heard, he spoke again in a tone dripping of ice and devoid of humanity, "You will abide by the terms of your contract. If you do not, the money is mine anyway. The marriage will go forward; it is the only way to save this ridiculous sham you all have made of this group. All these filthy gay rumors you encourage! You may not care about your marketability, but I will not have your silly sexual perversions ruin my hard work and take money from my family! The wedding will go forward, or I swear to god, every last one of you will regret it! You may not care about what happens to you, but Louis, do you think Daisy and Phoebe will understand that they are homeless because their big brother chose to indulge his sinful sexual perversions instead of caring for his friends and family? You will all comply, or you will see what it is like to really play with the big boys. Do you understand me?"

Everyone was silent for a long time. This was just so wrong! This was a nightmare! Louis and Harry stared at each other for several minutes, Louis still roughly rubbing along Harry's thigh. Finally, Louis offered Harry a small nod and turned to Richard. Harry felt his heart skip a beat with pride at the strength and resolve Louis was showing to stand up to a threat of such magnitude.

"Fine," Louis replied, "I'll marry her," he said, and Harry's heart exploded!

"Good boy," Richard cooed as the devastating shock of Louis's words settled over everyone. "And Harry, you WILL be the best man. I will enjoy watching you be forced to release the object of your perversions back to a normal and healthy life."

That was it. That was the moment Harry snapped! He stood quickly, sending his chair flying. His shouts of "no", and "how fucking could you, Louis?", and expressions of pain and agony filled the room. He began to throw plates and glasses, sending the others scattering. The guests in the bar began to come into the dining room to witness the disturbance. It was Eleanor to made the first move towards Harry, reaching up to slap him hard across the face.

"Snap out of it, Princess!" she shouted at him as Louis moved to place himself between Harry and Eleanor.

"Harry, leave, now!" Louis commanded. Harry blinked a few times before turning for the door and bolting. Noah ran after him as Louis and Eleanor grabbed each other and made for the kitchen.

"Grant, with Louis and Eleanor. You three, with me, NOW!" shouted Paul as he hurried Zayn, Liam, and Niall outside and into their van. All that remained inside were Simon and Richard, and the curious onlookers from the other party.

Simon stood at the table as Paul hurried the boys out the front doors. It took him a moment realize what he was seeing, and another to realize that it was too late to do anything about it. Nearly everyone crowded around the entrance to the bar had the smart phone snapping photos or recording video of the outburst. He recognized quite a few of them - journalists every one. And worst of all, there were several staff photographers from the major papers in the crowd. Or at least, they had been in the crowd. A couple had taken off to follow Harry, a few more after Louis and Eleanor, and the few who remained were rushing back and forth between snapping shots of Simon and Richard and following the boys to the van outside.

Richard's jaw was set in cold defiance as he faced Simon, who returned the look with equal part disgust and determination. "You have really lost control, Richard. My god, I knew you were ruthless, but Christ man, you've come completely unhinged!" Simon admonished him.

"Don't you dare tell me how to manage my business, Simon!" Richard shot back before being shut down by Simon.

"Since you like enforcing contracts so much, Richard, let me remind you that when it comes to issues regarding the health of the boys, that authority ultimately rests with me," Simon retorted, his muscles fighting his mind's urge to simply hit the fool standing before him. "If tonight has shown me anything, it is that the boy's mental health is currently questionable, at best. I am therefore invoking my authority and ordering that they cease all activity for the next thirty days. Cancel it all, Richard. And I'm warning you now, try to fight me on this, or blink in a manner I don't like right now, and I will walk over to those reporters and tell them everything!" Simon took a step closer to Richard, leaning in. "The Old Man taught me the same tricks he taught you. Don't you fucking think about going after them. I'm going to make arrangements for them to go on vacation under a complete media black out. And before you ask, no, you'll not be told where they are. You can tell the press whatever you like - call it an extended engagement party if you like. But I swear to god, if you try to call them, find them, or dare plant a single smear article against Harry or Louis, I'll out them and you myself! Now fucking back off and let me try to repair whatever is left of this group."

With that Simon turned and stormed out, leaving Richard to stand by the wall, amid the ruined remains of a meal and, it appeared, One Direction.

  
Niall, Liam, and Zayn huddled together in the back of the van as Paul zigzagged through the streets of London. My god how did everything go so epically wrong? Niall expected to be crying. He sure as hell felt like he needed it. But he was just so monumentally numb! Their great rebellion had been massacred before they barely got going. He could do nothing now but cuddle with the other two and watch the city fly by. It took him a moment to recognize the familiar landmarks, and another to clue in to what Paul was saying to the others.

"So we don't need to go to either place? You two are certain you have enough luggage and clothing here at Niall's to last up to four weeks?" Paul asked, a bit more forcefully this time. "Seriously? You lot sneaked THAT much over here without me noticing. Alright, inside. Pack for a month of warm Spring. Wait inside until I call you, then go to the loading bay. You have 30 minutes, I need to ditch the van."

The three piled out of the van and hurried inside, more confused than ever. But something about Paul's tone was rather reassuring. If nothing else, it seemed like Paul had a plan. Within minutes clothing and suitcases were being tossed around and filled. They had been sharing clothing for so long now that they did not bother trying to sort who owned what.

Liam stopped suddenly in the middle of their bedroom. His eyes focused on some far distant spot, and then the tears began to fall. "This is all my fault," he moaned before sinking to his knees on the floor.

Niall and Zayn both spun around in shock. "What the fucking hell, Liam?" Niall said as he lowered himself to cuddle in next to the man. "Why on earth would you ever say something like that, Monkey?"

"If ... If I had gone along with the engagement to ..." Liam choked on a sob as Zayn cradled his face in his hands and began to gently kiss away the tears.

"No sweetie, just no. OK?" said Zayn. "It was offensive when they tried to force this upon you, and it is offensive that they are doing it to Louis. Marriage is sacred. It's not a PR stunt. You knew that. You KNOW that! We were all so proud of you for standing up to them and refusing to compromise your integrity like that. You are a good man, Liam Payne, and we both love you! You have nothing to blame yourself for."

"Yes, he does," Niall said sternly as he rummaged through a drawer next to him.

Liam seemed rather shocked and Zayn simply murderous. "What the hell, Ni?"

Niall turned around and looked Liam right in the eyes, "You are my emergency bag of crisps I had hidden in the drawer, didn't you?"

The three erupted into laugher as they piled together on the floor, releasing the stress of the night in a flurry of gentle kisses, not so gentle bits, and a flood of affection and love.

  
It was almost midnight when the SUV driven by Paul pulled through the gate at the CANGlobe terminal at Heathrow. "Paul, why are we at an air freight terminal," Zayn asked.

"This is the address that was in the GPS," Paul responded as he was waved past a security guard and pulled into the largest of three hangers. Inside was a Boeing 777 freight airplane, and very little else. "Alright boys, Noah says you have to disable location services on your phone. As of now, we're to untraceable."

As soon as the vehicle stopped, several employees began to unload the luggage and usher the boys toward the aircraft. When they boarded, the sight before them was simply shocking. This was not, in fact, a cargo craft at all. Indeed, Niall thought, it might give Air Force 1 a run for it's money in terms of sheer comfort. They boarded to find Noah in the cockpit chatting to the air crew, Eleanor and Grant sitting at a table near the doors playing checkers, and Louis propped up on a sofa with a very dreamy-eyed Harry spread across his lap, all but purring as Louis combed fingers through his hair.

This time, it was the usually cool Zayn who erupted. "What in the fucking bloody hell is this?" he yelled, storming his way over to Harry and Louis. "Explain your fucking self, Tomlinson! You bitches had us all fucking freaking out!" Zayn was positively shaking with anger.

"M'Sorry Zayny," Harry slowly muttered, writhing a little under Louis constant touch. "I went too deep... Hmmmmmmm... Feels ... Hmmm." His words were lost as his eyes closed and he fell into a tranquil fit of humming.

Louis smiled warmly at his lover before turning his attention to Zayn. "I'm sorry we didn't tell you all what we had planned, but we needed for Richard to think everything was real. Harry and I knew he would never accept our offer; I think we all privately knew it, but didn't want to actually say it." Niall frowned, but Liam nodded his agreement. "So we needed to cause a scene - something that would really force Richard into a corner. So the three of us - Harry, Eleanor, and myself - devised a plan to have me agree to the forced marriage, for El to act like she wanted it, and for Harry to cause a scene. All right in front of the press, which Duncan arranged." Louis paused for a moment to run a gentle hand over Harry's cheek. "Unfortunately, our Harry got a little too deep, poor thing. It will be hours yet before he comes out of it."

"Wait a minute - that was all an act?" asked Niall. "Bullshit! Harry can't act for shite."

Harry made a soft displeased grumble as his heavily lidded eyes slowly opened and tried to focus on Niall. "Can't act..." he quietly agreed, "But I can role play ... Be anything you want Nialler ... Make your fantasy come true ... Hmmmmmm ...make you feel good, Lou..." Again Harry began to writhe a bit, one hand reaching up to rub random patters on Louis' chest while the other went down his own chest, and lower ...

"Sweet Jesus, Louis!" Grant exclaimed, "Take him to one of the rear cabins if he's going to do that again! Seriously, guys, you are SO lucky you were not here when Louis, El, and I arrived. I mean, I know all about the mile high club, but Christ, those two could have at least waiting until we were in the air."

"Or on the plane," Eleanor added casually. "The poor ground crew. It hope it doesn't stain the stairs."

Niall looked back at the stairs to the plane, and then began to vigorously scuff his feet on the carpet. "Role play? You mean he was...?"

Louis smirked and nodded. "We've been working on it all day. Playing out a sexual fantasy that he has to fight to get me back from Eleanor. We've done it a few time, actually. But tonight, well, I guess his fears were just a little too real, and he dropped a little too deep into 'subspace' and sort of got lost a little. Trashing the restaurant was NOT part of the plan. But still, at least the press got some great material. And yes, Liam," Louis continued, catching Liam's slightly gaping stare at Harry and his roaming hands, "he's still a bit turned on. But it will pass."

Noah passed by on his way from the cockpit towards the rear of the plane. "We'll be wheels-up in 15 minutes. The Manchester flight just left; and they are ALL on board. We should beat them there by about 5 minutes if the winds hold. Get yourselves ready. And the kid is not 'turned on', Louis - I had the drive the randy bugger here. Little twerp is hornier than a dog with six dicks."

Louis smiled excitedly at Noah as Harry moaned perversely, "Hmmmmmm ... Six dicks .... That would be fun!"

The next few hours passed quietly. They had no idea where they were going, other than that the Old Man had a 'Sanctuary' where they could rest and finalize their last move of the game. What that move was, however, Louis refused to say (and Harry was barely coherent) until everyone was together. It was dawn when they landed to refuel and meet the "Manchester Flight". According to Noah they were in central Russia, at an airport run by "friends of the Old Man", so the odds of them being kidnapped was relatively low. That's the thing with Noah - no one could ever tell when he was joking.

When the cabin door opened, Louis heard her before he saw her, and began to bounce in his seat like a giddy child. Duncan boarded first, followed closely by Jay, Dan, and the girls, and then Anne, Robin, and Gemma. Harry and Louis rushed into the open arms of their mothers, acting more like two year old boys than twenty-something year old men, before turning their attention to the rest of the family. The half hour stop over was completely consumed with greetings, catching up on old news, and generally enjoying the excited atmosphere.

Once they were back in the air and everyone had settled in, Jay could not contain her questions any longer. "Louis William Tomlinson, would you care to explain why I got a supper-time phone call from you telling me Dan and I need to take time off work, pull the girls from school for a fortnight, and leave home without telling anyone where we are going? Your grandfather is going to fret! And men in SUVs with dark suits? A bit dramatic, don't you think?" Anne nodded her support, never taking her eyes off Harry. With mothers, a look can say so much more than words ever could.

Harry stretched out on the sofa, where the twins sat upon him. "Last night we met with Richard. He is forcing Lou and El to get married," he said. Both Anne and Jay gasped, while Gemma simply looked murderous. "We don't plan to let that happen. No matter what we do stop him, we will be in violation of our contract, and by default, everyone else will pay a penalty for our disobedience."

"We are so terribly sorry for that," Louis continued Harry's thought, "but it is unavoidable. However, that does not mean that some good cannot come from this. Duncan has agreed to help get us all released from our various contracts. But the first thing we need to do is make sure Eleanor and I are legally protected, and that there is no way Richard can somehow force a marriage upon us."

Harry sat up, shooing the twins away. He leaned over against Louis, taking his hand as they both reached out for the hands of their mothers. "We don't know where we are going, but it is someplace special. At our request - and we HAVE been discussing this a lot, by the way - Duncan is taking us some place where Louis and I can get married. Next week sometime. Legally. So yeah ... Uhm ... Surprise?"

Niall was sure he felt the plane shudder a little as the shrieks from the girls startled the flight crew.

Duncan rose from his seat near the back of the gathering. "We are going to British Columbia, Canada. We should arrive in about 18 hours. Victor will join us on Monday with an official from the provincial registrar who will issue the marriage license. The judge will come by the following week to perform the ceremony. And don't worry, this will all be kept absolutely secret until we are ready to make it public. I hope you don't mind, bit I did agree that once you go public, the province can advertise that you chose to get married there. LGBT tourism is big business in Canada. Now ... Who would like some tea?"

They landed at the CANGlobe terminal at the Vancouver airport just before dawn. They had been traveling nearly 24 hours and had taken turns napping in the four cabins aboard the plane; although Harry and Louis had remained on the sofa, just in case. They were all but waived through by the Border Services officer that attended them before they piled into the three awaiting vans for the next leg of their journey. From the airport it was a relatively fast drive along the pre-dawn streets to the harbor, where they were escort aboard two large sea planes. Duncan travelled in one plane with the boys and their mothers, while Noah and Paul escorted the rest of the family and the mass of luggage in the second.

The flew north-west along the coast of Victoria Island, passing a number of barely inhabited islands and some of the most beautiful scenery any of them had ever witnessed. As their plane banked to the right to descend between two large islands, Duncan pointed to a smaller island ahead of them - if you can really call miles of dense forest small. "Ladies and gentlemen, the government calls this Vansittart Island. But please," he said, as the plane banked once more to fly toward a large bay on the north shore, "Allow me to welcome you to The Sanctuary."

Duncan would explain to them later that The Sanctuary had been built in the late 1800's by Peter's family as a resort destination for the rich oil, rail, and gold barons that had flood the West Coast with the completion of the Canadian Pacific Railway and during the Klondike gold rush. The resort, like Peter's family, had prospered over the years. It has stopped operating as a resort when Peter was an infant, and instead became the family summer home, as ostentatious as that was! Following the passing of Peter's family, Peter and Duncan had made the Sanctuary into a retreat for the various musical acts Duncan had managed, and a general vacation spot for their friends. When Peter died, Duncan and Victor used their resources and influence to have the private island designated as a "sensitive ecological area", and through various agencies, had managed to make it illegal for any boat or aircraft to come within 5 miles of the island without permission. Well, except for HIS boats and aircraft, of course. At the Sanctuary, they would be completely free of their management, the press, and pretty much the rest of the entire planet for as long as they wished ... Or the next three weeks, at least, which was about how long they excepted to have before Richard filed papers for breach of contract.

The Sanctuary was impressively massive, considering Duncan mentioned that they had torn down the "rear wing" decades ago. The main building sat atop several acres of gardens and lawn, leading down to a gorgeous beach and a dock large enough for several yachts. The resort itself still boasted over twenty bedrooms, as well as a recording studio, dance studio, and a massive library. The grounds contained an all-season freshwater hot tub and swimming pool, fed by an underground cistern system that purified water from a natural spring before use, and again afterwards. The entire island was completely self-sufficient. Even the cell and internet service was provided by a private, untraceable satellite link. Harry felt the place definitely lived up to the greeting carved into a rock leading up from the dock: May you find here your Sanctuary and your peace.

The first week passed like a surreal dream. Football games on the south lawn, barbecues on the east poolside patio. The provincial official was so sweet and accommodating that Harry and Louis invited her, her wife, and their three sons to attend the wedding that coming Sunday. Niall had taken to spending hours down in the Archive sorting through old photos and music. The Tomlinson girls had a special affinity for exploring the Sanctuary. On a particularly rainy afternoon their was a shriek of pure joy from the attic. They had found chests of clothing from the 1920's, remnants from the heyday of the resort. That evening supper was served in the formal dining room, with everyone attired in their best flapper dress and zoom suit. And the hiking trails! Harry could not remember the last time he was able to go for a walk just for the sake of walking without having to rush to get anywhere.

Of course both Harry and Louis spent a lot of time reassuring their mothers that they were not rushing into the marriage for the wrong reasons. The questions ended when Harry was able to provide the best answer they could find: they had been married for years, this was just them taking the time to sign the paperwork. It would change nothing, except how the rest of the world saw them, which really didn't matter anymore.

They were married on the evening of March 30, 2014, in the grand hall of the Sanctuary. It was a simple ceremony before a judge, with their family gathered close. They had opted to write their own vows together.

"Here I have found my sanctuary and my peace," began Harry.

"The moment Hi met his Oops, it was us, together, against the world," Louis continued.

"We have fought,"

"And made up,"

"We have laughed so many times,"

"And cried far too many tears,"

"But through it all, our love endured,"

"They tried to tear us apart, but we held on,"

"They tried to tell us we are wrong, but nothing this right could ever be wrong,"

"All I have belongs to you, my love,"

"All I am, is because of you, my love,"

"Here, with you, I have found my sanctuary and my peace, my Husband," Louis finished with a brilliant smile and a tear streaked face.


	12. The King's Justice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter deals with some very intense homophobia, and the language may be triggering.
> 
> Sorry for being late, it was unavoidable.

The manage to squeak out nearly another full week before Noah advises them that Richard plans to file breach-of-contract papers against them that coming Monday, April 7th. Victor moves quickly, making the call himself to Richard to advise that he has been retained by a firm interested in buying out the band's contract. Victor offers to email the proposal immediately, and begs Richard to meet with him and the boys at his Client's offices in The Shard that coming Wednesday. It gives Richard and his attorneys two full days to review the offer, after all, and what harm can come from at least considering the very generous offer.

As soon as Victor placed the call, Noah ordered the boys to their rooms to pack, and began making flight arrangements, leaving Duncan and Victor alone when the call ends. Victor simply chuckled to himself as he stared at his phone. "Almost 40 years later, and the dick still considers being asked to read a contact to be a sign of weakness. He was almost purring at the thought that I was calling him from a weak negotiating position. He'll come to the meeting - he's too damned curious about my involvement to not show up. I'll be flying back with the boys tonight to get things ready at The Shard."

Duncan nodded, but remained silent. Instead he leaned back in his chair, and looked at the large portrait of Peter. Soon, he thought, this will finally be over.

  
The boys arrived at The Shard with Noah and Paul shortly before 9pm. Victor had wanted the meeting late, giving some excuse about travel arrangements. They were led to offices on an upper floor that were still in the process of being unpacked. The only indication that the space was not spare storage was the name on the door that read "The Arcanum"

Victor led them into a barely lit boardroom, itself in the process of being unpacked. Some chairs still had their plastic wrapping, and the walls were lined with unhung paintings and large statues carved in various types of stone. Victor arranged them on the far side of the long boardroom table, at the end that actually had working lighting; illumination for the rest of the room was simply whatever the London skyline could provide through the windows. All that could be seen of the other end of the table was the faint silhouette of what appeared to be some ornately carved chair, but little else.

A few minutes later the door opened again and Richard was escorted into the room, flanked by two of his attorneys. He did not accept Victor's hand when it was offered, instead lowering himself into a seat to glare across the table at the boys.

Victor shuffled a few papers around, making him appear a touch nervous; which would not be all that surprising, he had not held a negotiation of this sort for many years. "Thank you for coming, Richard," he began, "and thank you for agreeing to meet at such a late hour. Unfortunately, my client's schedule and international flight schedules were not being overly agreeable for me today. I take it you have reviewed my Client's offer?"

"No," Richard calmly replied.

Victor lifted a quizzical brow, "No, you have not read it?"

"Who is your client, Vic? It seems odd that after all these years for your name to suddenly turn up. Your name and only your name. I have had people tracking down The Arcanum for weeks now, and all roads lead back to you." Richard spoke slowly, with every word dripping venom. "No, I have not read your offer. Tell me, Vic, why are you here?"

Victor frowned briefly, quick enough that only Harry, sitting next to him, seemed to notice. "My client wishes to see these young men released from their current contract, and to undertake their management. To that end, in addition to the most generous offer the group has already offered to you, my client is prepared to add whatever income you have earned in the past twelve months plus 25%, in whatever form you wish for that payment to take."

Richard began to laugh darkly. "A fucking bribe. Jesus, Victor, you are desperate. Now let me counter your offer," he said before eye-balling each of the boys in turn, "You five have contracts with my firm. Those contracts contain certain clauses that give me the right to automatically renew your contracts at my discretion whenever I wish. Your contracts will not be ending tonight, next year, or ever! Do you understand me? This foolishness is done! I have indulged your little fantasies of freedom for far too long, and it is starting to cost us money. I have no need to negotiate. I have no need to to be compensated for lost income. You will leave now, get back to work, and make us all very wealthy, as you are required to do. End of discussion."

It was now Victor's turn to laugh. "The Pirate's Curse," he intoned, "I know all about that, Richard. Who do you think invented that piece of sleazy legal wizardry. You see, boys, your contracts contain certain clauses, like the clues on a treasure map. Every time you achieve a certain benchmark, such as win an award, or have a hit song, a clause gets triggered and you get gifts and treats. What you probably were not aware of is that those clauses also reward Richard over here for doing such a wonderful job as your manager. So much so, that when you went to number one in the US, you found the treasure and the curse that came with it: you got a big payday, and he got unending control of your contract for as long as he wants it. I am sorry to tell you this boys, but he does have a signed contract."

Richard allowed a small smirk to creep across his face momentarily, until Louis spoke up and ruined his victory gloat. "A signed contract, perhaps. But not an enforceable one," said Louis. "I'm not a lawyer, but I am wondering if all of the things we have been forced to do would ever hold up in a court of law? Perhaps the European Human Rights Tribunal might have a thing or two to say about certain provisions?"

"Plus, I was only 16 when I signed the ugly bits, without my legal guardian present, I might add," added Harry. "M'not sure it is even legal. What do you think, Richard? Can a minor who was coerced into signing a contract that forbid him to fall in love really be considered an equal meeting of the minds?"

"You have no idea what kind of mistake you are making," Richard grumbled darkly, "I am still willing to help save your careers. I'll forget all about this insolence, the wedding will go forward, and we will all enjoy a good number more of profitable years. When the world moves on and you're not selling anymore, do whatever you want - get divorced, have your little gay scandal, I don't care. But we have a good thing going, don't throw it all away for your selfish perversions and sins."

Harry and Louis exchanged a glance, drawing smiles from each other. Richard really did sound like he believed that he wanted to help them, which amused them both greatly. "There will not be a wedding," Louis replied.

Richard sighed heavily, "Louis, I really don't a damn what sick perversions you have in the bedroom, but your image right now is shit. You need this wedding. Unless your happy having the world think your a faggot?"

"Don't you dare use THAT word against my husband," Harry warn in a very deep and menacing voice.

"What did you say?" Victor asked as he struggled to contain his emotions.

Harry slid a photocopy across the table.

"What is this?"

"That, dear Richard, is a copy of our marriage certificate," responded Harry. "Louis will not be marrying Eleanor. He is already married to me, and both the Crown and I take a very dim view of bigamy." Harry smirked proudly as he lifted his left hand from under the table to run fingers over his wedding band. "There is ancient magic in a simply ring of gold. Sign the contract, Richard, and let us go. We're so done with your games."

Richard all but hissed at them both. "I'll take you for everything you are worth," he threatened. "I'll make it so you won't even be welcome in karaoke bars! You'll have nothing. You'll be nothing! What do will you do then?"

Liam sat forward a little bit, reaching out to take Zayn's hand to his left and Niall's to his right. "Take it. We don't need it. We will have love. We will have each other. We will have what we need."

"I've always wanted to teach English," Zayn continued.

Niall giggled, "Can we get Liam to be a fire fighter? I'll be a wicked DJ!"

Harry threw his head back and roared with laughter as Louis exclaimed, "Oi! I'll not be left being the neurotic drama teacher you dicks! Plus Harold is shit at football." The five descended into fit of laughter, with Niall squeaking out an "I knew you read it!" as he gulped for air and clutched his sides.

Richard exploded. "Are you fucking serious? You god damned brats think this is a joke? You little fags think I am a joke? I will destroy you!"

Harry suddenly stopped laughing and narrowed his eyes. "No, Richard," he said coldly, "You'll do no such thing. You don't get it, do you? We're not afraid of you anymore. You can't threaten us. Go ahead, sue us."

"And then explain yourself to the press," Louis continued the thought.

Richard sneered slightly. This was not exactly the victory he had imagined. "You've all signed confidentiality agreements and I can get a publication ban easily enough," he countered, although there was now a hint of doubt in his voice.

Harry countered with, "If we are willing to break a multimillion dollar management contract, what the hell makes you think a confidentiality agreement would mean anything to us now. And try to get your publication ban. It's already after 10pm, you'd be lucky to get near a judge before 9am. Nick goes on air live at 6am. One phone call and we can saturate Radio 1 before you even get a chance to move."

Richards attorneys began to shift uncomfortably in their seats as the both began to have hurried whispered conversations with Richard, who appeared to be getting ever more annoyed.

Victor spoke up after a few minutes. "Richard, the offer is more than fair and generous. Take it. Let's all just walk away before this gets ugly."

"NO!" Richard shouted as he slammed his hands onto the table. "No! I will not be dictated to by these arrogant fruits! I will not be intimidated by queers. You have no idea how the real world works. You think you deserve to be happy. You think you have a right to be out and proud, but you don't! You are an aberration, a genetic defect, abominations! You have no rights to anything! You will either obey my commands, or I'll fucking ruin you. The only hope you have of anything resembling a happy life is to do what you are told and play the game by the rules I set forth. My game. My rules!"

Louis lowered his head and sighed. "You would throw away your dignity and reputation just to punish us? And for what? Because we are gay? Christ, Richard, are you for real?"

"Richard," Victor interjected, "we've been friends for years..."

"We were never friends," Richard snapped.

Victor simply nodded and continued. "I thought of you as a friend for many years. As a friends, I am begging you, take the deal. Sign the papers. It is an honorable way out for everyone. This need no go on."

"Never," Richard growled.

Victor took a moment to regard each of the boys. "Richard, what happens now is completely unnecessary. We all tried to prevent it from going this far. When the end comes, remember, what happens now was by your own choice."

Everyone was so intently focused on Victor and Richard that the lights at the other end of the table suddenly flashing to life made them all startle. But that was the only reaction they shared. For the boys, the sight of Duncan sitting at the end of the table, atop what could only be described as a throne, was like a gift on Christmas morning! Richard, however, paled dangerously for a man his age. But it was not Duncan that caught his immediate attention. Instead, his eyes were locked upon The King's Justice upon the table, demon face up. It seemed to take him a while to process what he was seeing, but slowly his eyes drifted away from the deadly bastard sword, following the lines of the blade and the hilt to the man sitting behind the weapon. Richard squeaked.

This was not the Duncan of Harry's memory. The wild white hair that reached everywhere at once was now cut short to shoulder length, the natural wave conquered into a powerful mane. The beard as well was shaved very close, just a white shadow on the otherwise tanned skin of his face. He wore a suit of navy blue, tailored to show of his muscular frame. His shirt was royal blue silk, adorned with a tie of imperial purple silk, and a vest and accessories of pure shimmering gold. He was every bit the king; and in that moment Harry knew this king would do absolutely anything, nothing was forbidden to him, even death. When Duncan turned his warm smile from Harry to look at Richard, when that expression went from love to hate, when Duncan turned his head and became the King of Swords, Harry was afraid of the man for the first time.

"You two," Duncan barked, pointing at Richards attorneys, "get out. Richard, we both know how this will end. So sign the contract, take your fucking precious money, and put an end to this farce."

Richard simply stared at him in silence, his jaw slack.

The elder lawyer looked at Duncan in abject terror. He stammered out an "Is that ...? That's him...!" before standing and making for the door. "You don't pay me enough for this," he called as he scuttled away. The younger man obviously had never heard of AD McVale, and remained seated. Richard simply sat there, face drawn, jaw slack, every bit the man who has just seen a ghost.

"God damn it, Richard, SAY SOMETHING!" barked Duncan.

"You're dead."

"Obviously not, you idiot. Sign the contracts."

"I was at your funeral."

Duncan paused for a moment, giving the others a chance to catch up in the verbal joust. "I was that much of a failure as a teacher? You really cannot reason it out? How do you know I was dead?"

"I read the news. I went to your funeral. I watched the caskets lowered not the ground!" replied Richard, his voice getting just slightly hysterical.

"Did you ever read the death certificate? Did you ever touch a body?"

Richard shook his head.

"How many times have I told you to believe nothing until you verify it for yourself? You know nothing, Richard! It was a simple thing for Victor to manage affairs as my Power of Attorney until I was released from hospital. And even easier to simply adopt a new name. One of the joys of Swiss banking, even dead men can do it."

Richard startled slightly at the reprimand. He fell silent again for another moment before asking, "Peter?"

Duncan's right hand twitched toward the sword before he caught himself. Instead he curled his fingers into a tight ball and released what sounded like a growl. "No, Richard, he is very much dead and buried. That part you did get right, you treacherous little prick. Now sign the fucking contract before I cut your fucking head off for killing the man I loved!"

"What the hell are you talking about? Are you accusing me of having something to do with the accident? You were the one driving drink, AD!" Richard retorted.

Duncan reach into his inside pocket and threw a photograph to Richard. "Fortunately, Victor was able to recovery this from Peter's personal effects before the press caught wind of it. Before the accident, Peter told me all about your little talk over this disgusting little picture." Duncan paused a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose, "I took you under my wing. I taught you everything I knew. And I created a monster. I am sorry for that, Richard. I hated you for a long time - I blamed you for even longer. But these boys here, they made me realize that I have no one to blame but myself. You did what I taught you to do. And you continue to do so even unto this very night. I am not asking you to change, I know that probably won't happen. But I am asking you, as someone who once called you a friend, to not fight me on this, to do the right thing for once, and let these boys go. Our time and our way of doing things has long past, Richard. Sign the contract and just let it go."

Richard leaned back in his chair to regard Duncan for several moments. "You old fool," he chuckled malevolently, "It's you who knows nothing! Did you think showing up here after all these years would really unsettle me enough to agree to this ridiculous deal? What do I care about an old photograph, or what Peter said? You have no proof of anything other than a photo of you diddling a teenager. And what? The confession of a man prone to hallucinations and paranoia? Go fuck yourself, AD! You've been out of the game for too long! Your theatrics and name doesn't frighten anyone any more! And I have more than enough money to take you on. You should have stayed dead, AD."

Duncan responded to the vile from Richard with a smile. "You know, Richard, you really are a great disappointment to me. Now, you will sign the contract. I have the press conference to announce the change in management set for 9am tomorrow. There is no need for you to attend if you do not wish. Now come on, be a good boy and stop being petulant."

"Make me," Richard sneered with a smug little smirk. "You have nothing to negotiate with, AD."

Duncan raised a hand, prompting Noah to come forward with a envelope. "Thank you, Noah. You know, I'm not sure you two were ever properly introduced. Noah, this is Richard. Richard, this is my good friend and associate Noah ... Xavier."

Richard blanched at the name, and struggled to recover. "The King still has his dog, I see," he offered as a reply.

Noah smirked. "Aye," he replied, "And the dog has control of your entire IT infrastructure. You really shouldn't have overreacted to a simple hack. And Richard, the next your hire any type of mercenaries, remember that they are loyal only to the money; always pay them more, or someone like me might really be able to screw you over." Noah moved to Duncan's side and handed him the envelope. "And don't bother typing to do anything about it now. The moment you entered the room your Blackberry service was disabled and a new encryption code installed on the network. You'll have it back tomorrow, when we are done."

Duncan merely chuckled as he slid the envelope over to Richard. "When we were at the Sanctuary for the wedding - a lovely affair, by the way. It is a shame you would not have attended. - Mr. Horan spent considerable time in the archive sorting through old photographs. Imagine my surprise when he found this photo Peter had taken of us. You remember that summer when he had that damned camera going off every 30 seconds? That was the summer you got your shoulder tattoo. I had completely forgotten about that until Niall showed me this picture - you can see it so clearly in this shot of us."

"It take it there is a point to this trip down memory lane?" Richard choked out. He really did seem on the verge of a major heart attack now.

"Look at the other picture again," Duncan responded with a smile.

Richard's face fell once more, all of the arrogance and bravado suddenly melting away in the heat of both anger and, for the first time, fear. "That ... That's not me! This photo is fake!" He exclaimed.

"It is as real as the photo you showed Peter. Sign the contract, and you can keep them both as a memento of our glorious reunion. You know how this will end if you refuse me again." There was perhaps a touch of fondness in Duncan's tone to contrast the seriousness of the words.

The younger attorney literally jumped his his feet and shouted "This is blackmail! We'll sue!" before a positively demonic glare from Duncan withered back into his seat. He leaned to say something to Richard, but was waved off. For his part, Richard sat staring at the photographs, shaking his head slowly. Liam thought he even saw his lip tremble just a little.

"Why, AD?" Richard finally asked. "Why now? Why ... Why THIS?"

Duncan steepled his hands before his lips, choosing his words carefully. "I watched you love Peter for 30 years, Richard. I didn't mind, really, Peter deserved as much love as this world could give. And you were a good friend to him. You were in love with him, but you never once tried to cross the line, making you a good friend to me as well. But Richard, when you turned on me, when you abused the trust Peter and I both placed in you, this became inevitable. I spent seven years planning your downfall, dreaming of the day I could serve upon you the king's justice. But thanks to these boys, my desire for revenge is gone. You loved Peter. I will not hate that which loved what I loved. So here is it, Richard, here is how this story ends: sign the contract, take more money than you deserve, and we all walk away."

Richard face was made of stone as he lifted his face and signed the papers. "You fool," he said to no one in particular as the pen moved across the page.

As soon as his pen left the page, Victor leaned across the table to take back the contract, and began passing contracts to each of the boys. "Now lads, if you will all just sign these, we can finish these proceedings and get a few hours sleep before we face the press in the morning."

Harry and Louis shared a worried look, the turned to the other boys who were both equal parts concerned and confused.

"I, uhm, Old Man, about the contracts," Harry began, "we didn't discuss signing new contracts tonight. Perhaps this can..."

He was cut off by Duncan, who wore an oddly proud smile, "Do you trust me, Harry?" he asked.

"Not at all," Harry quickly replied without thinking.

"Then sign the agreements," Duncan replied.

Harry lifted a brow, took a second look at the document before him, the signed with a flourish! Louis and the others followed suit in quick succession, seeming to be happy to let Harry make this epic decision.

Richard just shook his head and laughed. "You damned fool kids. At least with me you were wealthy. Now you are penniless, and at the mercy of the worst of us. You ungrateful queers deserve everything you get now."

Duncan laughed at Richard. "Such self-hatred. It poisoned us both, Richard. But you are right on one thing - I am the worst our business has to offer. The monster under the bed that still frightens by reputation alone. Which is why my Little One was wise to not trust me, and wiser to sign the agreement. Not a management contract, Richard. Really, my friend, you must pay attention to the words people use. An agreement. A partnership agreement, actually."

Victor picked up the explanation almost immediately, "When it was decided that we would be removing management control of the band from you, we began making provisions to reactivate business interests that once operated under the King of Swords banner, in addition to those interests we acquired over the past seven years. To that end, The Arcanum was born. The Arcanum's various entertainment and media holdings are currently valued at roughly $10 billion. And by signing the agreements, each of the boys now owns one sixth of The Arcanum, for the grand sum of £1 each. You can pay Duncan tomorrow lads; now that Richard wants you flat broke, you'll need the night to collect up your change. You see, Richard, if they wish to contract with themselves to manage their own affairs, they are free to do so. But as of now, congratulations, lads - you are billionaires"

The room was deadly silent as the news set in. This was unbelievable, so much more than they ever wanted. This was freedom on a level they never expected. The band would stay together. They would continue to make music. Their music. Their way.

"You god damned fool!" Richard shouted as he jumped to his feet. "You awful, hateful, ignorant, blind fool! It's always about you, isn't it? Your always so blind to everything but your own ego! You are so blind that you will give these ungrateful pricks everything we've worked so hard to build together! You never understood... You never knew ..."

Duncan looked quizzically at Richard, "What are you on about?"

"It was never Peter, you son of a bitch! It was you! Always you and you never noticed! Everything I did, every success, every ambition was driven by my desire... By my NEED to impress you and get you to notice me. It was never Peter I loved." Richard's voice cracked as he began to cry, "It was you. Always you."

Duncan's face shattered. The anger and malevolence vanished immediately in favor of pity. He reached out with his right hand to turn The King's Justice to the angel, while his left reached out for Richard. "Oh god, Richard. Why? Why didn't you say anything? We could have talked. You must have known that..." His gentle and sympathetic words were cut short by a near maniacal Richard.

"NO!" He ranted, " No! You fucker! You do not get the right to throw me pity! I loved you for 30 years! I sold my fucking soul a thousand times to make you happy. And did you notice? Of course not! You were too busy indulging yourself in the perversions of that crazy fucker!" Richard spat the words at Duncan. The rage of the words seemed to knock Duncan back into his chair.

"We worked so hard, you and I, to cleave out our company into something majestic! We were a good team. No, we were fucking great! When we rode to war the entire industry trembled! We were all but ruling the world as King's; we could have been fucking gods! But instead you wanted to just walk away because your sainted Peter wanted to play house? He was a fucking schizophrenic mess, AD! We all saw it! That idiot was dragging you all over the damned globe as he chased one delusion after another, and all you ever did was go along with it like it was perfectly fucking normal, leaving me to run the god damned company. It wasn't normal, AD! Peter wasn't normal you blind bastard! I never understood what you saw in that crazy faggot - he must have been one hell of a good lay to keep you around for so long and put up with his special blend of insanity."

Richard began to pace near the door as his ravings flowed freer than ever. "Christ, AD, what the hell did you expect me to do when you came into my office that morning, telling me that you're going to marry the fool, and by the way, you're taking the company we spent 30 years building and giving it away to all of our friends. Just like that. That is what you thought of our history together. That's what you thought of us ... Of me! Just something else to be thrown away to indulge the perversions of a fucking basket case. God, the fact that you can even blame me for the accident ... You were the one driving drunk you bastard! So I showed Peter a picture? So he thought it was you getting your dick wet? I didn't want either of you dead you asshole! I just thought it might push him a little bit further; he was off his Meds again anyway -didn't know that, did you? - so a little nudge was all I was going for, maybe get him into a hospital where the idiot belonged. I was trying to save you from ruining your career, your reputation, your image. Did you ever think what the press would do with the story of you two marrying. Of course not, those kinds of concerns wouldn't have made blessed saint Peter happy. You fucking fool."

Duncan remained silent during Richard's rant, but Harry could see the change that overcame him. It was in his eyes, really, that the story was told. Richard had crossed a line in his self-hatred. The entire evening, Duncan had looked at Richard with emotion, even if it was hate and contempt. But this raving man insulting the love of Duncan's life could no longer illicit an emotion from the Old Man. Richard's words had stripped away the last shred of humanity he held in Duncan's eyes. He was a thing now; not a thing to be loved, or hated, or even pitied, just a thing.

Duncan steepled his hands under his nose, his breathing too regular to be natural. "Are you quite finished, Richard?"

"Are you... Is that all you fucking have to say, AD? You pathetic fuck!" Richard snapped.

Duncan rose. "Boys, I'll have a car collect you around 8am," he said before turning back to Richard. His right hand moved to his sword once more, flipping it back over. His eyes bore through Richard as if he would turn him to dust with a glare. "No, Richard, I do have one more thing to say. Mr. Xavier, you may release your hounds."


	13. Karma

Harry paused from chopping the nuts for the salad to look out the kitchen window and watch Louis horsing around the pool the their children and crazy pets, more than he ever needed, but everything he always wanted. A deep warmth overtook him whenever he thought about how much their lives had changed in the last decade. A warmth which was quickly followed by a chill at the thought that he would soon have to remind his husband that it was July 23rd, and that meant The Arcanum's gala to celebrate the 15th Anniversary of the band that they MUST attend. Harry always laughed at how Louis, who could perform in front of 50,000 screaming fans, got terribly nervous every time they had to host a formal social function. But they were "The Bosses" after all, the five of them, the gala was for them, and it really wasn't the torture Louis made it out to be. Plus Louis in a tux was damned hot, and he was defiantly going to enjoy that sight again tonight. The kids were positively buzzing with excitement, a big London party, and a slumber party night at the Chelsea House with Auntie Lux.

Harry went back to preparing lunch as his mind drifted back. Eleven years since that first night at the Shard. He remembered just how elated and free they felt when Paul drove them home. They had everything they could possibly want a thousand times over! It didn't even occur to he or Louis that in less than 8 hours they would be publicly coming out in front of the entertainment and business press. In fact, the thought had not crossed Harry's mind at all; it was Louis who sat bolt upright in bed at 5am having a near panic attack. But as luck would have it, the press conference announcing the formation of The Arcanum Collective, their business partnership, the sudden return of AD McVale to the land of the living, AND their coming out, was not front page news that day. Or that week, really.

The front page of the morning press on April 10, 2014 was variations on the scandalous news that photographs and documents had emerged linking Richard to the Jimmy Savile sex scandal at the BBC. The public inquiry was already daily news, and now having the most prominent name in the music industry involved was more than the press knew what to do with. There were several artists from the 80's and 90's brought to testify, more photographs were found, but nothing conclusive was ever determined; however, guilt by association was good enough for the public lust for blood. Harry and Louis were not completely spared their share of column inches, but those stories were all speculation about whether or not any of the boys, Harry in particular (being the youngest), had been abused by Richard as well. They all made statements to the police and press confirming that they had not been molested, and that was the end of it. Their entire coming out was best summed up by a post on Tumblr: "I'm so relieved the only news is that Harry is gay; I couldn't survive our baby being harmed by a monster. Thank god he has his boo!"

In fact, that entire first year was mostly occupied with avoiding accidentally weighing in on Richard's continued and rather epic downfall. The BBC inquest led to "evidence" being obtained from a very conscientious whistleblower on Richard's IT security team, who had noticed irregularities in the servers where the corporate financial information was stored. By the end of August, Richard was facing securities fraud and embezzlement charges in half a dozen countries where he had done business over a span of nearly 30 years. Many began calling him the entertainment industry's Bernie Madoff. His management company was effectively shuttered, all of his assets seized, and public outcries for his head rose daily. The various investigations had revealed that Richard had been funneling income from his various artists through a series of Swiss banks, effectively using the funds that were supposed to be held in trust as his own personal cash machine. And it seemed the artists were always found in breach of contract somehow, and the trusts forfeited anyway. In fact, it seemed that One Direction were his biggest victims, to the tune of more than $30 million - money they never expected to see again, but were happy to receive nonetheless.

The real nail in his coffin, however, was when the nature of the contracts he imposed came to light. The Pirate's Curse was soon called Pulling a Richard, in honor of the monster who invented that particularly sleazy piece of legal wizardry. And the morality clauses, the same clauses used to closet Harry and Louis - including how innocent Eleanor, hired to be a pretty companion for a few publicity outings had had her entire life turned inside out by an ever growing legal and financial chains for so many years - earned the particular ire of the general public around the world. At a time when the group expected to be suffering a global backlash for years of lying and coming out, they were instead lauded as LGBT heroes and martyrs for enduring under the oppression of such an evil man. They actually saw a significant boost in sales that first year, as those who had normally ignored or dismissed them before suddenly became very interested in their story. And Eleanor was lauded as much a victim in this sad saga, with even the press accepting that she should be left alone. Seven months after The Shard, Eleanor left for Boston and never returned. (Anyone who accessed the British Airways passenger manifest and immigration logs for that afternoon would notice that "Eleanor Calder" boarded the flight, but "Mrs. Shannon Xavier" departed.)

And through it all was Duncan. He toured the world that first year, doing just about every talk-show that would have him. He did his best to deflect blame from Richard, explaining that he was really to blame, that Richard only did what Duncan had taught him to do, and to make his mea culpas and promise to be a force for change in the industry. Under Duncan's guidance, The Arcanum became a beacon for any business or artists who suffered in the closet, or otherwise did not have the support they otherwise deserved because of their sexuality. The Arcanum worked with anyone willing to work within the vision set forth for The Arcanum - sexuality had nothing to do with ability or marketability. Duncan testified before both Congress and Parliament about LGBT rights, and how systemic homophobia had made it not only easy, but necessary for men like him and Richard to force the closet on their clients.

That first year went by in such a whirlwind that Harry almost didn't notice the morning paper that early April morning announcing that a late night fire had razed Richard's London home. His body had been found in bed, where the first had started. The investigation determined, based on emails he had sent that night, that Richard had doused himself in gasoline and committed suicide instead of facing time in prison.

Duncan never mentioned Richard's death, and Harry never asked. At some point, Harry stopped caring about men like Richard. Instead, Duncan had focused on finalizing the track list for the IE ANTHOLOGY, and helping Harry and Louis get the one thing their money couldn't buy - a child. Duncan had arranged for the boys to spend a year in Sweden recording the now four-disc album. They knew early on other artists would be needed to made the IEA the masterpiece it deserved to be, and they were all happy to put in the extra time necessary. And frankly, a year only in the studio was a bloody vacation for them at that point! It was in Sweden where Duncan casually mentioned over supper one night that Peter had long funded a fertility research centre in the country, funding which Duncan had maintained. Apparently the facility was a world leader. They had even been able to develop a process to successfully use the nucleus from sperm in a donor egg, effectively making it possible for a baby to genetically have two dads; you know, in case the thought ever crossed their mind. This was their life - attempting the improbable like it was perfectly normal.

Two weeks later Gemma was in Sweden, all but demanding that she be donor AND surrogate, thank you very much. Being siblings, it as decided that Harry would be the nuclear donor (a term Niall found far too hilarious). They were warned however, the chances of success were still very low. Harry never did understand how they went from very low to THIS! To increase the chance of success, and based on their family genetic histories, several fertility drugs and two fertilized eggs were used. When the blood test a month later confirmed a pregnancy, they were all elated! Eight weeks later came the first ultrasound, during which Louis completely fainted (which he denies), and Harry cried so much Gemma had to call their mother to calm him down (Louis being unconscious at the time and of very little support).

Harry laughed to himself as he prepared the salad dressing at just how weirdly and unbelievably epic their lives have been. They had walked into the clinic hoping for nothing more than a normal heartbeat and a clean bill of health. They should have known better. What started with one diagnostic imaging tech became two, and promises that everything was fine. A nurse was soon added, and a second ultrasound machine rolled in, just in case the first was defective, but everything was fine. Then it was a doctor, mentions of an unexpected abnormality, and if you could, please repeat the full medical history of your families again. More questions, more tests, until finally Harry was about to snap and demanded to be told what was happening immediately. They would discover later that Anne had neglected to mention to Harry that multiple births were common on his father's side of the family. So here they were, one father with twins in the immediate family, the second father and egg donor with multiple births (triplets three generations back apparently) in the fraternal family, and some fertility meds that may have worked a bit to well, given the new medical history. Both embryos were viable. Both embryos had attached to the uterine wall without any complications. Louis began to breath heavy at the thought of twins. But, well, there was one more ... Irregularity. According to the ultrasound, it seems that both eggs had split before gestating. So yes, technically, twins. Twice. At the same time. And Louis actually bounced when he hit the floor.

But that what their life had always been like, Harry often thought - over-the-top fate kicking down the door when opportunity would have only politely knocked. Elizabeth, Ruth, Duncan, and Peter were delivered by C-section on November 25th, a little more than two weeks early - Gemma had simply run out of room - but otherwise healthy. Both families agreed that they would all spend their first Christmas together at the 10-bedroom monstrosity Harry and Louis had bought in the countryside south of Northampton. Of course Jay and Ann were there when they brought the brood (as Louis came to call them) home, and stayed well into the New Year. That was the Christmas that Harry decided all girls needed to have a pet cat, Louis decided all boys needed a dog, and they learned to discuss these things first. Four new borns, a kitten who thought she was a dog, and a puppy who thought he was a cat sorely tested their resolve. The cat quickly developed a habit of climbing Louis and perching atop his head, hissing violently if he tried to shift her, and Harry was convinced that the mix-breed dog (mutt!) has so many breeds mixed that the only possible explanation was government experimentation run amok. But that was their life: semi-organized insanity masquerading as chaos and no one batting an eyelash the day the cat seemed to bark at the mewing dog.

Harry heard the girls shriek their chorus of "UNCADUNC!" before he saw the Old Man come through the side garden into his view. Seventy years old now, and he still seemed to have more energy than the kids! But the pain was evident in his face today. They did not find out about the first bout of prostrate cancer, from which he still recovering when he first met Harry, until the second bout his just before the brood was born. Treatment did not go as well this time - the radioactive nugget and hormone therapy was not as effective this time, so surgery and chemo entered the equation. Duncan never did fully recover. But he persevered, as he always had, noting that he had babies to teach and still many things left to do. But they all knew, they would not be as lucky the third time around. Duncan wasn't even pretending to bother with treatment this time, occupying himself and Grant with transferring to The Arcanum those things that would normally just be drawn from his other companies. The Zurich hotel, the Sanctuary, a few of the newer planes, all found their way passing the desk of Harry and Louis. Assets were being sold, charitable trusts were being established or increased. The Old Man was ever practical, getting ready for his final visit ti the little churchyard outside of Zurich. They knew what must be done for when the time came.

Duncan may have said hello to Harry as a quick lay, but he would be saying good-bye to him as a friend, skilled apprentice, and the only man other than Duncan to give Simon such a sudden and withering glare that could illicit a gasp from the otherwise stoic friend. They all had their roles to play in running The Arcanum: Liam was a wizard at keeping things moving despite the efforts of his friends, Zayn had a sharp eye for new talent, Niall knew what would make or break a production, and Louis could sass even the most wild diva into line. But it was Harry they always turned to when things needed to get ugly, when some executive somewhere still held on to Richard's way of doing things. Harry took particular delight in bring them to heel, or grinding them to dust if need be. Perhaps he was punishing them for crimes they had yet to commit, but he would not tolerate their old ways any longer. If that meant proverbially spiking a head to the ramparts as a warning to others every now and again, he was more than happy to do it. He was the Old Man's Little One, a new bastard for a new age. They had gone from the bottom of the stairs, to the top of the charts, to the top of the Shard, all because Louis and Duncan had the good fortune to say hello to Harry.

Duncan was followed into the garden by the rest of the boys, which brought a smile to Harry's face. He would never get tired of seeing them so happy, not after their year-from-Irish-hell four years ago. Until that time, Harry had always assumed that Liam and Zayn were together, and Niall was slotted in there somewhere. It was not until the night that Liam and Zayn recommended that the three of them sell their flats and buy a house close to Harry and Louis, the night Niall walked out and disappeared for a year, that Harry realized that Liam and Zayn were together BECAUSE of Niall. They both loved the Irishman without reserve, and had grown to love each other as a result.

That year had been a misery. Liam and Zayn had tried to go on, they bought the house in the next village, but the strain was getting to be too much. They fought too much, talked less and less, and simply pinned for the Irishman who had abandoned them both. Harry was certain Duncan knew where Niall was, but whenever anyone would ask he would simply say "walkabout," as if that was supposed to be enough. And then nearly a year lated a moving van pulled up to the house, followed soon after by Niall, and the three were forever inseparable after that. Harry asked Niall why he had left a few times, and each time the answer was the same: "I had to know for sure." He had become as bloody cryptic as the Old Man.

Harry finished the salad, balancing it and several trays of food on his arms as he made his way out to the patio. The crazy cat was swimming in the pool with the boys as if it normal, and the idiot dog was tearing about the yard chasing birds again. In a few hours they would all change, pile into a limo, and host the social event of the year. But that was not really their life anymore. This was their life. Family. Friends. Love.

The End.


End file.
